


Awakening

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Marriage, Mildly Dubious Consent, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Some Humor, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:46:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 87
Words: 101,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I still don't know exactly where this will head, but it's kind of a romantic crack!fic. It's my guilty pleasure to deconstruct Tywin, I guess. Please be lenient with me in that respect... ;-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been stolen from me and has been posted on another homepage without my consent. I hereby declare that so far, the story hasn’t been taken down from that homepage despite my explicit wish to delete it. Any profit that person is making has got nothing to do with me and is being acquired against my will. I hereby condemn this kind of behavior. It is effectively blocking my creativity. Do not visit such a website, please. At this point, I’ve got no intention to take down my stories here, so going there has got no point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own my works of fanfiction. I do not profit from the stories or drawings, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters, plot and settings go to the respective original author or artist.

Normally, when Tywin awoke, he wouldn't feel much; his eyes would simply snap open, and his mind would set to work, sharp as ever. Someone who had fought in a war had learned this way of awakening – instantaneous functioning could well mean the difference between life and death. And Tywin had survived. All those years.

 

Thus, it was most remarkable when on this particular morning his awakening differed a lot from the usual procedure. It was gradual and slow. At first, he simply felt a calm, warm heaviness. Some kind of... satisfaction.

Tywin wasn't used to satisfaction, but he needed a full minute or more to realise this and to start feeling uncomfortable about it. Slowly, his mind started to buzz, but his thoughts were strangely fuzzy. Another point he wasn't accustomed to, and it led to more than a little testiness.

“What's wrong with me?” he huffed.

 

Tywin lifted his head and felt at once a gurgitation of dizziness. However, he wasn't one to give in to a momentary weakness and hoisted himself up into a sitting position. He thought that the sound of a door had been the reason for his awakening, but for now, he was alone. No servant at his side.

 

To his growing confusion, the Lion noticed that the sheets and cushions in bed were in complete disarray – far more than even a nightmare of Joanna's death would have allowed for. Tywin scanned his bed a bit closer... and discovered a long, red hair on his own pillow.

His green eyes widened in lack of understanding, and he breathed in deeply. There was the distinct smell of femininity in the air. And of lust. Come to think of it – he was naked under the covers.

Tywin didn't understand. A woman had passed the night with him? In his own bed?

“WHAT on earth has happened?” he asked himself and rose.

 

When he shoved the blanket back his eyes fell on a telltale red blotch on the linen.

Now, Tywin was getting really uneasy.

A maid?

He had lain with a maid!?

This was unbelievable. He wasn't interested in stupid, innocent young women. The only females in his life were rare, secretive encounters with Chataya's discrete, experienced, capable and exclusive women.

Tywin didn't busy himself with maids, didn't even really know any...

… a picture formed in his mind.

 

No.

 

No, surely... It couldn't be. It simply couldn't. This was so far beyond everything...

His late grandson's untouched widow – never ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Lord Tywin walked over to his washstand and splashed some cold water into his face. He could feel the droplets run down the skin of his head and into his sideburns. A shiver ran down his spine. Next, he slipped into some breeches and a tunic and called for his personal servant.

 

“Have you seen a woman leave my quarters?” the Lion asked.

The elderly man, who had worked for him for many years, simply answered: “No, of course not, my lord.”

What he naturally meant was: “As always, you can count on my reticence.”

 

Damn.

 

Tywin arched an eye brow and stated: “I assume the same is true for everybody else.”

“For everyone under your direct command.”

 

There were days when Tywin hated it to live in the Red Keep.

 

With a flick of his fingers he ordered a bath and his clothes for the day. Half an hour later, with a meticulously shaven face, he felt cleaner. At least outwardly. Under these circumstances he was also willing to break his fast, although he wasn't very hungry, not being a glutton like Robert Baratheon had been one.

 

Sporadic memory fragments of the previous evening had returned: little, incoherent snatchings of the past – and they all supported the theory of a tumble with Sansa Baratheon. “The Hour Queen”, as she was called by the people.

 

Tywin rubbed his face with his palm.

He wasn't one to make mistakes – let alone to screw up things. Or to screw noblewomen, who even belonged to the inner circle of the family.

Well, “inner circle” was a bit far-fetched. Queen Sansa had been made a widow during hers and Joffrey's wedding ceremony by an assassin two years before, and ever after, she had lived very remotely, barely showing her face in public any more, if you didn't count the Godswood or the sept; and she was always dressed in mourning, thus adding to her aloofness.

 

However, Tywin started to recall that she had attended a banquet on behalf of Tommen's birthday the evening before, and she had been placed next to the Hand. Back then, Tywin had already toyed with the thought of flogging the man who had made the decision for this seating arrangement, but now, he'd absolutely go through with his plan.

 

“What in the name of the Seven happened between the dessert and this morning to Lady Sansa and me?” Tywin swore.

 

He controlled his drinking to keep his wits about him at all times, and things hadn't been any different during the banquet, so he certainly hadn't suffered from any wine-induced stupor. As far as he knew, Lady Sansa wasn't a boozwolf either. Something was foul here. As foul as his decaying grandson in his grave.

 

On leaving his room, Tywin informed his servant: “Invite the Lady Sansa for lunch. In the small dining room.”

His valet's face was blank and betrayed nothing.

“It shall be done, my lord.”

 

With normal, proud strides the Lion walked to the room of the Small Council.

On his way, he noticed many insufficiently stealthy, but all the more curious eyes look into his direction.

Shit.

Despite his position, his reputation and his fearsome appearance gossip had already spread its ugly wings like a raven from the seven hells.


	3. Chapter 3

As Tywin intended to retain utmost composure he had arrived very punctually to brace himself for any inconvenient reaction. Moreover, he hoped to meet Kevan and to be able to have a private word with him before the meeting started.

  
It was good that his brother had decided to spend the winter in King's Landing with his spouse. After Jaime had moved to Casterly Rock with his huge warrior wife and had taken up his duties as the future Lord of the Westerlands Kevan had been free to move to the capital to support the Hand and to become the Master of the Coin. Tywin valued these conditions greatly. Especially so, if you wanted to find out what kind of mischief you had got yourself into after a night of inebriation.

 

It turned out that he had anticipated Kevan's mode of conduct correctly, for his brother turned up mere moments after him – and his sibling didn't even waste a second to come to the point.

 

“Tywin, what did you do?”

  
“You tell me. I don't remember much after yesterday evening's grape cream.”

  
Kevan gaped at him.

  
“You mean... you don't know you said you felt a bit ill at ease, and that Lady Sansa said the same, and that you offered to see her back to her chamber since you wanted to retire anyway?”

 

 

Now, it was Tywin who was looking owlish. It was also enough of an answer for Kevan.

  
“So, you don't remember, Ty. Very strange. And the castle is buzzing with gossip this morning. Even more so, since Lady Sansa has been seen returning to her chamber only about an hour ago. And it's said that she looked unusually... dishevelled, literally and metaphorically.”

 

 

Tywin crashed a fist onto the Council table. He was breathing heavily.

  
So much as to his target composure.

 

 

At once, he tried to pull himself together.

  
And it was just in time: the door opened and Tommen entered, accompanied by his wife Margaery. In their wake were Lord Baelish, who was now – after Lord Varys's disappearance – the Master of the Whispers. The next in line were Pycelle, Tyrion, Cersei and Osmund Kettleblack from the King's Guard, the new Master of the Armed Forces.

 

 

His daughter was fuming, it was clearly visible, and she would have exploded, if the others hadn't been present. Margaery, in contrast, was simply showing her mask of easy smiles.  
“This is a meeting of the Little Council, so all of those without an official function will leave the room now,” Tywin stated, aiming at the two women.

  
The queen simply bowed and gave Tommen a kiss on his cheek, accepting the order – and doubtlessly knowing exactly how to come by the necessary information after the meeting. Cersei, however, bristled, and Tywin had to nearly stab her with his looks to make her leave.

 

 

The Lion had learned to focus on a task at hand and to push all other disturbing points aside. This ability now proved very useful for the better part of the morning.

  
The topics that were being discussed mostly centred around winter, its impact on the Seven Kingdoms and the according necessary royal measures.

  
Slowly, Tommen was becoming interested in the way of ruling a country, beyond the mere fascination of impressing a seal; at times, he asked questions that were acceptable for his age. At the same time, he was still tractable – and far more so than spoiled Joffrey had been. The boy probably wasn't the brightest or most zealous Lannister offspring that had ever walked the earth, but he was more promising than Lancel or late King Robert. With some efforts he might reach Kevan's intellectual spheres one day.

 

 

In the course of the hours, one item after the other was debated: the state of the corn reservoirs and other food provisions, a lantern system in King's Landing because of the short winter days, the health situation with regard to hunger and the winter fever, the ongoing and intensifying rumours about undead creatures from the north... Of course, the latter aspect was most interesting for a boy like Tommen, so they dwelled longer on it than the Hand had planned.

 

 

At some point, Tywin's throat felt a bit dry, and he reached to the middle of the table where servants had left some glasses and goblets, water, wine and fruit juice for the men and the child king.  
When he touched a golden goblet, an image flashed up in his memory and hit him like a ram did a city wall at the end of a siege: Lady Sansa had sat next to him the previous evening, and Tywin, who had been conferring with Kevan across the table, had accidentally taken her goblet and drunk from her wine. He had offered a curt apology, which she had accepted, with the usual intimidation she always showed him. Well, he was used to inspiring respect, or even fear, so he never cared about her reactions. A little later, Tywin had started to feel queasy – and from thence, things had obviously gone downhill.

 

 

Clank!

 

 

Tywin had let his goblet fall, and everyone winced. He attracted some looks, but luckily, nobody made a comment. Otherwise, that person would have earned himself an extremely vicious retort.

 

 

Though his face didn't completely reflect the storm that was building on his inside and only waiting to break lose the members of the Small Council knew him well enough to see he wasn't amused. Ah, then again he never was, so obviously his ire was already sending first shock waves into the room. Good.

 

 

The realisation that someone had put drugs into Lady Sansa's wine and that he himself had been affected as well because of a simple lapse on his part was at least as scandalous as the disastrous outcome the poisoning had provoked.

  
But why would anybody try to drug Lady Sansa?

  
True enough, she was still a pawn in the Game of Thrones when it came to the north, but she wasn't an active player, and now, in mid-winter, her claim wasn't of acute importance, due to all the snow and the alleged wights and the like. This was also the reason why Tywin hadn't pressed her into a new useful marriage alliance yet, which he had intended to postpone to the end of the cold season, just like he had for her little wolf sister, who had been discovered by Jaime and his wife near the Saltpans, and who had been taken back to the capital for the duration of the winter.

 

 

The whole affair was most abnormal.

 

 

Finally, the council meeting came to an end. Slowly, the people were filing out of the room.

  
His youngest son waddled past him, smirked and commented under his breath: “And I always thought I was the ladykiller in the family.”

  
Tywin hissed back: “You will not speak to your Sire like this, you with all your filthy whores and your excesses. What do you know after all?”

  
The Lion was angry he couldn't retaliate in an effective way. The knowledge that his wayward gnome of a son might have a point irked him more than he could say.

 

  
Tyrion simply chuckled, apologised in his typical, ironic way and left.

At the same moment, Cersei stormed back into the room, her green eyes hard like flint.

“What did you do with this little Stark bitch? You – of all people?”

 

Slap!

 

It had happened on instinct – and the very same instinct caused Tywin to hiss: “She's neither a Stark any more, nor is she a bitch. She was Joffrey's wife, a queen, if only for an hour or two, and you'll treat her accordingly.”

Cersei held her cheek; her eyes widened, then narrowed again, and she spat: “Why should I, if you don't?”

“I have to report to the king – not to you.”

“I'm the king's mother, in case you have forgotten.”

“You're my daughter, in case YOU have. And Lady Sansa is a widow. Unattached. I am a widower. Unattached. Anything you might want to read into yesterday evening's occurrences would be less repulsive than the affair between you and Jaime. And it wouldn't be illegal either – unlike trying to poison someone.”

 

Tywin's accusation was a shot in the dark, he knew.

Naturally, Cersei played possum, pretended to be scandalised – and for once, he couldn't quite discern whether his daughter had had a hand in the matter with the wine or not. If he had to guess he'd say she wasn't the driving force behind this, but a confidant... and she was especially enraged, because the original plan – whatever it had been – had backfired.

Hm... Tywin filed these musings away for a later moment and he returned to the Tower of the Hand. He'd prefer to shake the truth out of her, but he didn't want to risk a public scene.

 

On his way, he suddenly heard the screeching voice of a rabid girl – Arya Stark: “Let me through! Let me through! What did he do to my sister!? I'll stick him with the pointy end, I promise!”

Fortunately, his Gold Cloaks were doing a good job at keeping Lady Sansa's younger sister at bay, and Tywin didn't bother himself with a confrontation. Not yet.

 

When he arrived at his bedroom door, another shard of reminiscence suddenly cut into his mind.

 

_“This is not my chamber door, Lord Lannister. We're in the Tower of the Hand.”_

_“Yes... yes, you're right, Lady Sansa. How could we end up here? My brain is whizzing. I can't form a clear thought.”_

_“I feel the same, my lord.”_

_“Come in for a moment and have a sip of water. I'll call a servant, and he'll see you to your room.”_

 

But the last point had never happened. Once they had entered his personal quarters the thought of a servant had been entirely forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

Stony-faced, Tywin entered his suite. In the ante-chamber, he was struck by another piece of memory.

 

_“You can call me Tywin.”_

  
_“That's nice. I like the ring of your name. It suits you well. And you can call me Sansa.”_

 

No. He had not said that. He had certainly not offered Lady Sansa to call him by his first name. And he couldn't imagine for the life of him why Lady Sansa should compliment him in such a way.

 

He shook his head and walked on.

 

Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. Tywin hissed. Who dared to disturb him now?

The door opened and his personal servant peeked in.

  
“I'm awfully sorry, my lord, but the Lady Genna would like to...”

  
“Just step aside, will you? I don't have to be announced to meet my brother,” Tywin's sister, Genna Frey, who was also passing the winter in the capital with her husband and some more family members, admonished the servant and whooshed into the room.

  
An impressive woman, like always – and usually very outspoken.

  
Tywin ground his teeth.

 

 

“Ty, what must I hear this morning?” Genna wanted to know.

  
“How shall I know what you've heard?” Tywin spat.

  
“Oh, but that's obvious, Ty, since you've actively contributed to the gossip. Is it true that you have deflowered the Hour Queen?”

  
“Her name is Sansa Baratheon.”

  
“Oh, pointing out her name. I didn't know it was so bad.”

  
“I don't think that what I do or don't do is any of your business.”

  
“Are we sealed up like an oyster again? Well, I only wanted to offer you that if you want to get rid of the girl to clean your name of the shame me and my Frey relatives can always take her under our wings.”

  
“You mean the Freys who secretly plotted her brother's murder, and who would have slaughtered the whole Stark and Tully party at Lord Edmure's wedding at the Twins, if Robb Stark hadn't had the decency to fall off his horse and to break his neck beforehand? I don't have a sense of humour, otherwise I might have thought this to be a joke. A very bad jape, to be precise.”

  
“My, my, you're in a really vicious mood today, brother. You know that I'm not Lord Walder, and I just wanted to be friendly and to help you. Especially now that your flawless reputation as a staunch widower is in serious danger. People think you haven't had a woman since Joanna's death.”

  
Tywin ran his hand through his hair and answered: “No need to remind me, Genna, and spare me the reference to the people's stupidity. Pff! This is really not my day.”

  
His sister patted his arm and repeated: “It's just an offer, Ty. Think about it. And now, I feel I should visit our young king. He was so sweet at his nameday banquet yesterday.”

  
“Whatever.”

  
Genna laughed: “ I really can't distract you, can I? Well, in that case I'll just leave you to your thoughts. See you later!”

  
With whirling skirts his sister strode out of the room.

 

 

Tywin had to admit by now that he was really affected by the recent developments, and it made him angry. He thought of his sister's words. He should probably consider to send Lady Sansa off to the Twins, but somehow, he was loath to the concept. Perhaps the next days and the development with regard to the gossip at court would clear his senses.

 

 

Stiffly, he walked to his bedroom door and wrenched it open. His eyes fell on the bed...

  
… and suddenly it was as if someone had pulled a rug away from under his feet, causing him to fall.

 

 

_“I don't know why I can't walk properly any more, Tywin.”_

  
_“I've got the same problem. And it's getting worse.”_

  
_“I fear I can't walk back to my chambers any more. What do we do now?”_

  
_“Well, you'll have to sleep in my bed, Sansa. It's big enough.”_

  
_“That's so kind of you! But my handmaid isn't here. Can you help me with the laces of my dress? I can't reach the ones on my back.”_

  
_“Sure. – – – Whoa. What on earth – scars?”_

  
_“I... I was punished some years ago.”_

  
_“Didn't take your Lord Father for a tough.”_

  
_“It... it happened after my father was arrested.”_

  
_“Who did it?”_

  
_“The King's Guard. Except Sandor Clegane.”_

  
_“I SEE.”_

 

 

Tywin groaned. The absurdity of it!

  
And more memories kept attacking him relentlessly.

 

 

Tywin's next step in bed had been to start to kiss along the scars he had discovered, to trace them with his lips, even with his tongue after some moments – and Lady Sansa had simply sighed. He had exposed more skin then – and more old injuries. He had kissed those, too, and had told Lady Sansa to lie flat on her stomach, so he could remove the rest of her clothes.

  
She had obliged, blushing like the maid she had been, but very willing, and his mouth had started to travel over her skin again. His voyage had led him further south, to her scarred buttocks. He had not stopped, had not hesitated for a moment.

 

_“Tywin...”_

  
Her voice had sounded... enticing. Her body had been enticing. The delicate skin, her relaxed demeanour...

  
Tywin had spread her legs next and had run his nasal tip along her folds, breathing in deeply.

  
Lady Sansa had gasped.

  
_“Tywin!”_

  
But she had not balked.

  
Dizzied – not only by the wine, but also by her female scent – he had asked: _“Yes?”_

  
And then, he had kissed her folds lightly.

  
_“Gods! What are you doing?”_

  
_“Kissing you.”_

  
He had repeated his action... and had earned another gasp. And a giggle.

  
_“Do you like it Sansa?”_

  
He had ghosted along her nether lips.

  
_“Oh my... Tywin, this is...”_

  
_“Yes? What is it?”_

  
The tiniest possible lick, directly at her most sensitive spot.

  
A moan.

  
Tywin had chuckled to himself and had teased her further, just enough to make her wet, not more. At least that had been what he had thought. Yet, Lady Sansa had been so responsive that she had been dripping after a while.

  
_“Please, Tywin, you're driving me insane – it's too good. Please...”_

  
To his surprise, she had peaked a moment later, and he had seen her quiver and tremble. She had also uttered little, incoherent noises.

 

 

It was then that Tywin had discarded his own clothes – and his self-control. He had slipped between Lady Sansa's thighs, had positioned himself at her entrance and...

  
She had whined in pain, despite being befuddled and relaxed and aroused.

  
Tywin had moved in and out a few times, trying to find out, if it would get any better, but then, it had become too unpleasant to see Sansa's face, and he had pulled out and had rubbed himself to his own climax. After that, the drug in his blood had quickly gotten the better of him and he had fallen asleep – but not before he had clumsily washed himself and Sansa had spoken to him again.

 

 

_“I know it's supposed to hurt the first time, Tywin. I understand. It's all right. Can you hold me and kiss me a little now, until I'm asleep?”_

  
_“Come here.”_

  
_“You'll make the next time better, won't you?”_

  
_“I promise.”_

 

 

Tywin absolutely didn't suffer from a nervous stomach – yet, when he suddenly remembered all the details he was sick into the chamber pot.

  
What upset him wasn't so much that he had fucked a women, or deflowered her, not even that it was Sansa Baratheon. No, what completely unsettled him was that he had not been himself the previous night.

  
He had made himself familiar with Lady Sansa. Had offered her to call him by his first name.

  
He had been too slow-witted and too drugged to remember to call a servant, had offered her to sleep in his bed as if this was the normal thing to do. There had been something akin to laughter.

  
And he had kissed her, seduced her, even embraced her. Like a loving man. He had only ever touched his wife like this.

  
“Oh, Joanna, what have I done?”

 

 

And Lady Sansa? The remote, cold, serious Hour Queen had opened up to him like a flower, had been trusting like a child, and she had responded lustfully to him. She had been completely natural, her walls had been down, and she had believed that they'd do it again.

  
Well, they both had. Tywin had given her a promise about it.

 

“Damn, which poison did they put into the wine to rob us of our personality!? This is beyond vile!” Tywin hissed.

 

 

Another problem arose in his mind. It wasn't a sense of honour, nor the memory of his drug-induced promise that caused him to think of it. No, it was his strong sense of being a Lannister... mixed with pure, personal greed.

  
There was only a theoretical chance of Lady Sansa being pregnant, from the way their intercourse had ended, but it wasn't completely impossible she was carrying his child now. Time would tell, of course, but there was another point: he couldn't allow any other man to take a woman he had had. Tywin remembered how mad King Aerys had lusted after Joanna. He simply couldn't let anyone else bed Lady Sansa now. Sending her to the Freys was no option.

 

 

There were only three options with regard to her now: the Faith, the Stranger or golden Lannister shackles.

  
Tywin walked into his dressing room and took what items he thought he might need to carry out either of these variants.


	5. Chapter 5

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sansa was wringing her hands while walking up and down in the Hand's dining room.

From one day to the next, her life had been turned upside down. It wasn't the first time to happen, but she still found she wasn't prepared any better for the catastrophe that had occurred now.

Again and again, the thoughts swirled in her mind: “You've lain with Lord Lannister, of all men. You've given him your maidenhood.”

 

Ever since she had awoken in a foreign bed, sore between her legs, naked... and lying next to an equally naked Old Lion she had felt absolute panic. She had puked all morning in her room as if she were already a few weeks into a pregnancy. The lingering scents of the lunch that had already been prepared for them caused her to feel queasy again.

 

On her way to the Tower of the Hand Sansa had noticed many stares directed at her, and had known that nasty gossip was being exchanged again. The problem was that this time, the courtiers' tattling was well-founded. Thus, the aloof Hour Queen was in the process of being reduced to a lowly harlot. Gods.

 

Yet, there had always been vicious rumours about her in the Red Keep, so this was hardly the worst point in the affair. What she dreaded more than anything else was Lord Tywin's reaction to all of this. She could only assume that his ire would be limitless and his punishment accordingly severe.

 

When Arya had tried to visit her in the morning, Sansa had blocked her sister and hat sent her off. Sansa had only had an endless bath and had nearly scrubbed her skin off with a brush.

The problem was, however, that she wasn't able to fend off the memories that kept coming back to her. At first, she hadn't been able to recollect a thing, but that had changed with time. From then on, her face had been flushed crimson in shame.

 

She had seduced Lord Tywin! Like a lowly tavern wench.

And the weirdest thing of all: they had kissed. And embraced. Like... real lovers. The feeling and taste of Lord Tywin's mouth was the most prevalent memory in her mind now. And has lips had been everywhere on her body, even the most unspeakable of all places. It was all so absurd.

Sansa wanted to weep, because she had been so wanton and had relished his touches to a degree of sensual madness. She, the alleged cool lady who had managed to manoeuvre herself into a rather safe position for the meantime, had been an epitome of impropriety, of lewdness – and had thus shattered the image of the remote, mourning widow she had created of herself.

It was strange that Lord Lannister had not become angry or disgusted then, had instead even been uncharacteristically gentle with her; but he had been affected by the wine, too, so surely he'd be mad at her now after having sobered up.

Sansa also remembered a short moment of pain and a subsequent feeling of fullness. Of tightness. Down in her... her womanhood But it was all blurred. It couldn't have lasted long, she guessed. Likely, it hadn't been a contending experience for Lord Tywin either, which might make him even angrier than he'd be anyway.

 

Where was the hole in the earth so that Sansa could sink into it? A meeting with the Lion of Lannister was the last thing in the world she wished for, but she had been invited for lunch. It was impossible to deny the Lord Hand's explicit order.

 

And now, she was there, scuttling to and fro in her delicate slippers, looking at the ornate tapestries in Lannister colours, smelling the scent of food and waiting for fate to strike again. Fleetingly, she wondered why she should be invited for lunch at all – she could have been punished right away, and Lord Tywin wasn't one to play cruel games like Joffrey.

But then, she heard heavy, confident steps nearing, and all thoughts fled her mind, being replaced by fear. These were the steps of doom, she was sure.

 

The door opened and Lord Lannister strode into the room in all his serious, formal elegance. He was clad in extremely fine clothes in his family colours, as usual.

Sansa's heart pounded like mad – and the memory of his sleeping, naked form overlaid the one of the wake Hand. Her instinctive reaction was weird: she half wanted to flee and to rub at her skin again, and she half wanted to run at him, to throw her arms around his neck and to kiss him like she had done the night before. It was downright shocking.

 

Lord Lannister looked at her with his feline green-golden eyes, and he seemed to be completely controlled.

Sansa curtsied lightly, trying to keep herself under control.

“Lord Hand.”

“Lady Sansa. I have invited you, because we have to assess certain recent developments.”

“I see, Lord Hand. I expected as much.”

Lord Tywin nodded, then pointed at the table, which had already been laid.

“We'll have a bite first.”

Sansa inclined her head to show her compliance – though she didn't know how she should be able to eat the tiniest morsel of food.

 

Lord Tywin rang a little bell, and silent servants appeared. They moved the chairs for them, poured wine and water into golden goblets and served first creamy herb and mushroom soup, second clams and salsifies in a buttery sauce, and finally rosettes of chestnut cream.

So much culinary splendour, wasted on so little appetite.

They ate in an awkward silence.

“Why does he wait so long?” Sansa asked herself and looked at Lord Lannister.

She came to the conclusion that he must have already overcome his first moments of fury and that had reached a decision, so that he could be calm and patient now. As a consequence, Sansa wasn't able to taste any of the delicacies any more; she chewed and swallowed mechanically.

 

She was sitting rather close to Lord Tywin, and suddenly, she smelled a whiff of his scent. For a heartbeat, she felt the need to eat him then, instead of the creamy dessert. At once, she berated herself for that stupid, stupid reaction.

 

Finally, they had finished their dishes, and the servants had taken away the plates and had only left a little platter with cheese cubes and salted seeds to go along with their whine.

Once they were alone again, Lord Tywin spoke up: “So here we are and have to recapitulate a few things, Lady Sansa. Have you reached a conclusion as to where our yesterday's aberrance must have originated in?”

Sansa blushed.

“I feel that my wine must have been drugged, Lord Hand. And when you accidentally drank from it you got affected as well.”

The Lannister patriarch nodded.

“Your theory reflects my own assumptions. Do you have any ideas as to who committed the deed and why?”

 

Sansa breathed in deeply. So Lord Tywin seemed to be angry with the person who had drugged them, rather than with her. How different he was from Joffrey!

 

“My lord, I'm not sure, and I don't want to point my finger at someone without having any proof.”

“Have an educated guess then. You seem to have an inkling of some sort.”

“I don't know, if it is truly an inkling, my lord; I just happen to remember something. It may mean something – or nothing at all.”

“Speak in plain language, Lady Sansa. Mincing your words doesn't help.”

She squared her shoulders then.

“All right. Um, perhaps you can recollect the scene as well. When we left the banquet and were in the corridor we came across Lord Baelish, and he offered us to walk me home to my chamber as you were not really fit any more, like me – but you told him off.”

 

Obviously, Lord Tywin didn't remember the incident. He shook his head.

“I have forgotten this particular moment, but it could be meaningful indeed. Lord Baelish was infatuated with your Lady Mother, and he's an unworthy upstart who might possibly think he could gain an even better position than he already has. And more power. He also has got the knowledge of certain poisons, I'm sure – and he probably also had the opportunity to slip it into the wine. However, it might also be possible that he simply smelled an opportunity in that corridor. We'll have to see, if the mystery will be uncovered in the future. I'll take the necessary measures in any case. For now, we have to discuss the personal consequences of our... episode.”

Sansa's hard dropped. So this was the decisive moment.

 

Lord Lannister produced some objects from his pockets and placed them onto the table.

Sansa looked at them: a rosary with the seven-pointed star, a golden dagger studded with jewels, and a Lannister badge.

Her mind ran rampant when she slowly started to grasp what the objects symbolized.

Lord Tywin's only gave the clipped order: “Choose.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise! When I got to work today I was told I could go home earlier today. Hehe, guess who didn't object? And guess what I did with my surplus of free time. ;-)

He had to admit he was more than mildly interested in what object Lady Sansa would pick.

In their previous conversation he had noticed that she wasn't quite as dumb as she had always appeared to be, and he started to wonder whether her air of shallowness and stupidity had been some sort of tactic. As he wasn't one to be fooled easily he was reluctantly starting to reconsider whether the young woman in front of him was deserving his respect or not. He hadn't reached an ultimate decision yet.

However, as Lord Tywin took Lady Sansa in, who was gazing at the rosary, the dagger and the badge, he could see she was understanding their respective meaning. She swallowed.

The decision obviously wasn't an easy one for her, and that made him angry.

 

“Lady Sansa, what shall it be? Or shall I choose for you?”

She looked up at him then with her blue eyes.

She was frightened, and her voice was tiny and trembled when she answered him, but to his surprise her stance was clear: “My lord, this is a decision about my future. The rest of my life. I think that five minutes shouldn't be too long to think things through.”

Tywin hissed in response, stood up, walked to the fireplace, stared into the flames and folded his hands on his back. That she had dared to stand up against him at all, even if it was in a mode of intimidation, proved that she had some guts – more than quite a few men, actually.

In King's Landing one was always surrounded by craven lickspittles. For years, Lady Sansa had appeared to belong to them. But, in this case, his assumption had proven wrong. Tywin resolved he had to learn from this mistake.

 

With his ears he was constantly scanning the space behind him to hear whether Lady Sansa would try to attack him with his dagger.

Well, she did not. She was completely quiet.

 

The silence dragged on and gnawed on his nerves.

Just when he was about to spit at her that time was up she said, deadly calm: “My lord.”

 

Tywin turned around and the first thing he saw was her left hand: the dagger.

His heart missed a beat.

Then, he saw her right hand: it was holding the badge.

 

“You were supposed to choose one item,” he growled.

Lady Sansa looked at him, her face a mask, devoid of any emotions.

“Lord Lannister, the dagger is more final than the badge. One could try the latter first, and if it doesn't work...”

She shrugged.

 

Suddenly, Tywin looked at her and he realized something with absolute clarity: Lady Sansa hadn't made this decision the first time. She had made exactly the same one before her first wedding.

He breathed in and out. Remembered the scars on her back and its origins.

Now, it was clear that a reassessment of this woman was vital.

“I wonder how long it'll take to do so. But a good riddle might be an interesting challenge.”

 

Tywin walked over to her and put the three items back into his pockets.

“The wedding will take place next week, so that a few essential things can be planned. You won't talk about it to anyone, Lady Sansa. After what has happened with the wine there mustn't be another unplanned incident.”

She didn't as much as blink.

“I see, Lord Hand.”

“There will be a marriage-contract. You will also be informed about the details of the procedure then.”

“It was to be expected, what with my claim for Winterfell.”

Lady Sansa looked into his direction, though not at him, but right through him. He was getting annoyed again.

 

He scratched his knuckles and stated: “Right. That was what had to be settled, Lady Sansa. Dismissed.”

The young woman curtsied stiffly and simply answered: “Lord Hand.”

At once, she turned around and left the dining room.

 

Tywin remembered Cersei say about her that she was always chirping tons of empty phrases. Yet, he had detected none of this during their meeting. True, Lady Sansa had been extremely polite, but she hadn't uttered a single word without meaning. Tywin knew his daughter had spent more time with his future bride, but Cersei had clearly been blind to all the currents below the surface – and he himself had been stupid enough not to question her judgement in this matter.

Subtlety...

Tywin shook his head.

 

He poured himself a glass of liqueur. Normally, this sort of alcohol was too sweet for his taste, but on this day he didn't want to drink any wine, not after what had happened – however, he did need a drink.

Damn.

He'd remarry. It was something he had never wanted to happen. Tywin thought of Joanna, and the mere thought of being bound to another woman in the same way felt all wrong. But then, he told himself that it wouldn't be the same. After all, he had loved Joanna dearly. Still loved her, no matter how long she had been dead now.

Lady Sansa would be three or four things: a correction of a mistake, a political alliance, a duty in bed... and probably a mother of some future children. Babies – something he had never thought to have again.  
Anyway, Sansa couldn't be what Joanna had been: the better part of his soul. That part had died along with his first wife.

Tywin then remembered what Sansa had tasted and and felt like in bed, even if his recollection was still partly blurred. Naturally, she'd never be so open and so willing again. It was a pity, he had to admit. Yet, with a bit of luck the duty in bed might at least be an acceptable one.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa felt dead on the inside. She had thought that marrying Joffrey had sealed her fate. When it had become clear that Sansa would be forced to go through with the wedding she had resolved to stab the king in their marriage bed... and to end her own life afterwards, knowing she wouldn't have had a chance to survive. The prospect of freeing Westeros from the sadistic monarch had been had been her only motivation.

 

 

However, an assassin had been faster than her and had murdered her disgusting bridegroom during the feast.

  
At first, Cersei had tried to lay the blame at Sansa's door. It had been rational Lord Tywin then, who had quenched his daughter's misdirected thirst for revenge. His Gold Cloaks had found the assassin – a foreigner who had been murdered after the deed himself. Nobody had tried (or been able) to trace any clues back to her and, what was more important, Tywin had hindered his daughter to produce any fake proof against Sansa.

  
He had even found and brought Arya back to her, though it meant that her little sister was under the control of the crown again. In reality, Arya was allowed to remain under her tutelage and had been treated fairly enough. Sansa had been so grateful then.

 

 

Now, the same man who had granted her a minimum of justice, the man who had taken her maidenhood, the man who had been so surprisingly tender under the influence of some sort of drug... was handing her down to some minor Lannister. Was forcing her into a marriage with a Lion.

 

 

With her mourning attire she had tried to fend off a second wedding for as long as possible, but after the recent events things had gone downhill.

  
Sansa had not asked who her future husband would be. It didn't matter. There would be no love anyway. If you assumed that the bridegroom had to be picked from the family – because of Sansa's claims to the north – it was most likely that either Tyrion or Lancel Lannister would be the chosen ones. Since Tywin despised his son Tyrion and since Lancel was under Cersei's control it was more probable that it would be the latter one.

 

 

To Sansa it was all the same.

  
There had been a mistake, and now she'd have to pay for it. She wanted to weep, but no tears came.

  
The memories of her night with Lord Tywin kept tormenting her: the way he had held and had even kissed her. Those had been moments of false happiness... and yet, happiness of some kind it had been.  
The sadness in Sansa's heart felt leaden, but then, she told herself that at least she wouldn't have to marry Joffrey again, and that she'd never have to fear being bedded by him. And yet, it was cold comfort, nothing more.

 

 

In the afternoon, Sansa managed to steel herself enough to face Arya. Her sister had already been on tenterhooks and dashed into the room impatiently.

  
“Finally, sister! What on earth has happened? The keep is buzzing with nasty rumours. Did you really sleep with the Old Lion? What did he do to you?”

  
The mere thought of this possibility caused Arya to cringe.

  
Sansa started to explain: “Painfully direct as always, little sister. Not ladylike, as usual. But I guess I owe you the truth. Well... As you know I was at King Tommen's nameday feast. Accidentally, Lord Tywin and me both drank from some wine that had been mixed with some sort of drug. When the effects became tangible he offered to walk me home – only instead we ended up in his rooms, and I stayed there for the night.”

  
“He bedded you, didn't he? That's so him, he's such a greedy man. Gods, I'm going to be sick!”

  
Sansa flushed scarlet.

  
“Arya, that's really private.”

  
“I take it as a “yes”. Brrrrr, it makes me squirm. No need to hear any details, thank you. And drugs? What shit is this? And what now?”

  
Sansa knew she had promised Lord Tywin not to tell her sister about the upcoming wedding, so she wouldn't do it – but she had not promised him to help Arya to find it out for herself.

  
“Yes, drugs. We're still unsure about the culprit. With regard to the future: have an educated guess, little sister.”

  
Arya screwed up her face.

  
“Uuuuh. Does he want to have you out of the way, Sansa?”

  
“One could say so.”

  
“Is he sending you away?”

  
“I don't know. His solution might imply this.”

 

 

The moment when Arya pieced it all together was plainly visible: how the shock entered her eyes, how her mouth opened slightly, how she started to hyperventilate and to ball her fists.

  
“No! NO! Don't tell me he intends to barter you to some of his minions! And to whom?”

  
Sansa shrugged.

  
“Don't know. Don't care.”

  
Arya was shocked even more now.

  
“But you should, Sansa. You must! Oh, but don't you fear anything – I'll interrupt the ceremony, when the septon asks, if anyone is against the wedding.”

  
Sansa stiffened.

  
“No, please don't do that. You know the Lannisters have got the long arms. Lord Tywin might well lock you up during the ceremony, because he can surely anticipate your reaction. And if you really interrupt the wedding it'll only backfire for both of us. I don't want you to get punished – especially not according to the Lannister fashion. Please, Arya: promise me on our dead father that you won't cause a disturbance, and that you won't try to prevent the marriage. We've lost so many people we love. Our family. Our pack. I don't want to lose you again. You're the only one that still makes my life worth living, Arya.”

 

 

Her little sister pouted. Having her swear on their father was a mean – and effective – trick. After a while, Arya gave in, grinding her teeth, knowing that she'd be really put under lock and key during the wedding, if Sansa didn't manage to convince Lord Lannister that Arya didn't pose a threat.

  
Yet, Sansa felt no real relief. True, Arya would probably be allowed to come to the sept under these circumstances, so she wouldn't be completely alone, but the fact that her sister would witness this mummery caused her to feel all the more miserable again.

  
Again and again, Sansa wished she had not shared her wine with Lord Tywin, but since there was no turning back the time all she could do was to strengthen her inner walls to a new degree.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Badassery ahead. ;-)

Tywin lightly pinched his nose with his fingers. He felt unnerved. Was marrying really so stressful? Somehow, he didn't remember it to have been like that with regard to Joanna. But then again, he hadn't operated in secret, and there had been more time for the preparations. Then again, he had already achieved a lot within three days.

 

He had commissioned an adequate dress for Lady Sansa – his spies had provided him with the necessary measurements. It had been no easy feat to decide upon the colours, and he knew little enough about female fashion. In the end, he had settled for a dress in Lannister red, with grey and white seams and sleeves and both a hairnet and an impressive necklace made of white pearls. After the wedding, she would get dresses in gold as well, but perhaps Lady Sansa would appreciate it, if the Stark colours were not completely forgotten. The first piece of gold she was supposed to wear was the marriage ring.

 

In the kitchen, Tywin had ordered a small menu with only five courses, something unobtrusive that befitted the time of the year and that the spies at court could easily dismiss as one of his normal family meals. One of his men had told him he had found out that Lady Sansa's favourite food were lemon cakes – unfortunately, there were none to be had so quickly in mid-winter, not even at court, but he had filed the information in his head for the future. However, he could lay his hands on some lemon preserve for the breakfast for the morning after their wedding night.

 

Tywin also knew which septon to contact. The ceremony would take place in a little chapel in the Red Keep, not in the Sept of Baelor.

 

Another question was who to invite. He needed some witnesses to their marriage. Kevan was obvious, as he was loyal. Genna? His sister would be welcome – the Frey spawn around her not. Perhaps he'd inform her at the very last moment. Arya Stark? That depended on whether Lady Sansa would be able to rein her in or not. He wouldn't allow a scandal during the ceremony.

And what about Tyrion and Cersei? A wedding without them being present wasn't thinkable. Well, Tyrion was a little monster, but he likely posed no threat to the alliance. With Cersei it was different; Tywin knew how his daughter hated Lady Sansa.  
“I'll have to manipulate Cersei then. No problem there,” Tywin thought and shrugged.

Of course, Cersei would only get to know about his plans at the very last moment. And the same was true for Tommen. The king would be present. Had to be present. And of course, the boy had to be prepared in such a way that he wouldn't interfere – though he likely wouldn't do that anyway.

 

The most important point for the time being was the marriage contract.

Tywin had already written a first draft, then a second, and now, he was ready to confront his... fiancée... with his terms. He hoped that Lady Sansa wouldn't become problematic about the conditions all of a sudden. Of course, he had made sure that the Lannisters would gain a lot from the alliance, but he had also granted Lady Sansa – and her little sister – an acceptable position and even some liberties within certain boundaries.

Well, he'd be finding out about his future wife's attitudes in a moment, because he had invited her for dinner and for the signature of the contract.

 

What unnerved him beyond these aspects was that he had been suffering from severe cases of morning stiffness all these past days – and more between his legs than in his joints. His dreams had been according, with a naked Sansa writhing and moaning under him.

No wonder then that he was even less patient than usual. Tyrion had already made a comment, saying it was good these days that the Lannister servants were wearing golden colours, because one couldn't see it so clearly when they pissed themselves in fear from their lord. Tywin had only shot back at his son that he had always assumed that Tyrion's blotches stemmed from Arbor gold, though whether it was wine or piss or piss-poor wine didn't matter, because it was all humiliating for the Lannister name anyway. Tyrion had grinned and retaliated with a stupid quip about the nature of certain “Dornish red” stains in his Lord Father's bed... which in its turn had led to Tyrion being smashed against a wall for his insulting words and to his son being kicked out of the room.

Since then, Tywin and Tyrion had glared daggers at each other, but the latter one had kept his mouth shut, and that was all Lord Lannister cared for.

 

The door opened, and his personal servant announced: “Lady Sansa, Lord Hand.”

“She may enter.”

 

His fiancée was pale and stony when she came into the dining room, and somehow, Tywin was annoyed because of that.

“Lady Sansa, good evening. Shall we dine first and sign the marriage contract then?”

“As it pleases you, Lord Hand.”

She was polite, but remote, like he had always known her. Had he not had these passionate memories of them between the sheets, accompanied by abundant proof, he would have believed it to be a mad dream.

 

They ate in silence, and Sansa's eyes were cast permanently downwards, right onto her plate. She pecked at her food as listlessly as a little bird that wasn't hungry.

Afterwards, Tywin pushed the plates aside and put a table desk in their place. No need to waste time and to walk from the dining room to the solar.

Next, he produced the parchments he had prepared and arranged them for Lady Sansa to read, together with ink and quill and sand.

To his absolute surprise, his fiancée didn't bother herself to read the documents, seemingly didn't want to read a single word he had written. Instead, she grabbed the quill, dunked it into the ink and signed.

“So that was it, Lord Hand. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?” she asked, and Tywin thought that he wasn't a jovial man, granted, but in contrast to her his demeanour was as warm as the Dornish weather.

“She doesn't want to spend one more second in my presence than necessary – but why did she choose my badge then in the first place?” he mused.

It was a mystery.

 

And her behaviour made him even angrier than he already was. Damn, he had not initiated the drugging or the bedding, and now he had to live with the outcome, just like she had to!

Hissing, he told her when to await the wedding dress and where to go for the ceremony and when – and that her sister would only be allowed to come along, if she swore to behave.

Sansa simply stood up and answered: “Of course Arya will behave, Lord Hand. And now, I guess our meeting has come to an end. Am I allowed to take my leave?”

 

Something inside of Tywin snapped.

The next moment, he was pinning her against the next wall and was kissing her violently.

For a second, Lady Sansa simply stiffened, but then... she pushed him away!

Tywin was so not prepared, because nobody ever denied him anything in his presence, so that he actually stumbled.

“What on earth...!?” he managed to utter, but Lady Sansa cut him short: “I have made my choice, according to what you had to offer. Only you offered the wrong thing, by the look of it – and now, it is too late. Good evening, Lord Hand.”

Lord Tywin was thunderstruck by both her strength and the anger in her voice, and only after the door had slammed shut after her did his thinking set in again. The problem was that he had no clue as to what his fiancée had been alluding to. He scratched his sideburns, confused and at a loss for words, something that usually never happened to him. Well, Lady Sansa was decidedly having the weirdest effects on him.


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa was alone in her room, sobbing into her pillow.

Why had he done that? Why had he kissed her?

She didn't understand. Not at all.

Lord Tywin had been irritable during their dinner and even more so afterwards, so it hadn't made any sense for him to kiss her. Well, his move had been marked by anger, and yet...

What on earth had happened? What had caused a hard, cold man like him to do this – and this time without having been drugged? Even more so after she had just signed a paper that had settled a Lannister marriage? Why should he treat her like this when she was about to be sold to someone else?

 

It took Sansa a while until she found an answer to these questions: obviously, the Lord Hand had been deeply unsettled by their joint experience, and it had been for that reason that he had lost control for a moment. He was a man who was used to dominating the world around him, so he probably had no strategy to cope with their unplanned coupling. It was a weird notion that even rigid Lord Tywin, who often seemed to be less than human, could be shaken in his core.

 

The problem was that Sansa's body and mind were an awful mess now. She had never had the tiniest warm feeling for this man, quite the contrary, in fact... but from one moment to the next, she wanted to kiss him again, and badly so, and her underbelly felt like molten honey and was pulsating in the most shameful way.

 

Her memories were upon her: of what he looked like naked, of the way he moaned in his arousal, of how his mouth felt between her legs, of his seed spurting from... his body after he had rubbed himself. Gods, she had even dreamed of his... member. Of kissing him there in return.

Sansa felt dirty and desperate and embarrassed and more than a little angry herself.

 

She realised she needed some peace and decided to pay Joffrey's grave a visit. The creepy calmness of the crypts would grant her a measure of seclusion.

Thus, she put on a dark veil that would also cover the signs of her tears and made for the sept. The air in the underground corridors of the crypts was clammy, but Sansa didn't mind. As a woman who had been forced to watch her father's decapitation she was beyond feeling much dread here.

There were some wilted flowers on Joffrey's tomb, remains of her last visit. Sansa had always seen to it that she truly looked like a mourning widow – and in mourning she had been, only not for her deceased husband, but for her family. She always tried to shake off the knowledge that Joffrey's carcass was decaying next to her when she came here and prayed for her family instead.

 

This time, it was a bit different: her thoughts strayed here and there, she thought of how disgusted her parents would have been by what she had done with Lord Tywin. At least, the surroundings doused her more passionate feelings; she was grateful for that.

 

At some point, Sansa heard steps in the corridor and looked up. She froze.

“Ah, Queen Wolf-bitch. Feigning grief for my poor son again?”

Cersei.

Sansa greeted her mother-in-law with cool politeness. Ever since Sansa had married Joffrey, they were both on more or less the same social level, which meant that Cersei couldn't simply send for her like she had done in the past; and Sansa had used her position to keep her distance from the woman's vitriol. But now, there was no immediate escaping.

“No need to pretend to be an innocent lady,” Cersei spat. “I've seen through your schemes, you northern harlot. You've murdered my dear son, and now, you've opened your foul cunt for my father, and you're trying to sink your teeth into him.”

The former queen had quite a wine breath, like so often over the last years, and though she had always tended towards vulgarity this inclination had intensified proportionally with her alcohol consumption. She also slowly started to look the part. 

Sansa knew the words for the pathetic cattiness they were – and yet, the accusations stung. What the mind understood and what the heart felt were two things, after all. And it was the same with regard to Lord Tywin.

 

“Your intention was to visit your son's grave, I gather, so I will leave you to yourself now,” Sansa simply said to the Lannister woman.

“You're fleeing, you want to say, you craven, perfidious little bitch,” Cersei screeched and started to threaten her.

Sansa was getting worried, because her mother-in-law was blocking the passage. Tentatively, she tried to sneak past her, but that only served to make Cersei even more aggressive.... and to attack. There was a painful jolt in Sansa's hair, and she squealed in shock and pain.

“I won't allow you to harm my family again, you disgusting whore!” Cersei frothed, and Sansa became really frightened.

 

“You're projecting your own character onto our poor Sansa,” there was suddenly an ironic voice in the corridor.

Both women spun around.

There was Lord Tyrion, standing next to a bony septon, who was looking uneasy.

With vicious derision in her voice Cersei shot back: “Gorging her hook as well, little brother? Well, I can't expect anything else from a fornicator like you. What are you doing down here anyway?”

“People who live in glass houses should not throw stones, dearest sister. And I'm down here, because I had assumed I might meet my niece-in-law here, only I didn't remember where Joffrey's grave is, so I asked this good septon to show me the way.”

 

Sansa was immensely relieved to see Lord Tyrion and chimed: “It's kind of you to seek me out, and of course I'll follow you. I feel you want to talk to me about something, Lord Tyrion?”

“Indeed, Lady Sansa. Please follow me then. I'm sure Cersei will want to stay behind to mourn at Joffrey's grave.”

The elder woman hissed: “You're only thinking with your cock, and one day, that will be your downfall, little brother.”

With a smirk, Tyrion pointed into the air: “Ah, well, but look at me – in comparison to you I won't fall very deep.”

Cersei glared daggers at him, but Tyrion simply took Sansa by the arm and waddled at her side when they returned to the sept. Suddenly, Sansa understood: Tyrion, the septon, the need to talk... She was half shocked and half relieved when it dawned on her that she'd marry the short Lannister man next to her. Shocked, because she wasn't attracted to him as a man at all, but relieved because it wasn't Lancel, Cersei's puppet. Moreover, Tyrion was more intelligent and educated than Ser Kevan's son. Sansa wondered, if Tywin had intended to humiliate his unloved younger son by serving him his discarded lover – which was by all means a humiliation for herself as well.

 

When the two of them were in the snowy open again, so that eavesdropping was difficult for any possible spy around, Tyrion murmured: “I've just made the most interesting discovery in my father's solar. It was a marriage contract, and it bore your signature.”

Sansa was surprised that she had got to know about the marriage sooner than Lord Tyrion, but somehow, she felt it fitted into the bigger picture.

She forced a smile onto her face and asked: “I see, Lord Tyrion. And what do you say?”

The Imp chuckled: “I still have to recover from the shock, I must admit, and I hope you're not angry about my words.”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, after everything that has happened it is an unexpected, but certainly clever political move. It'll secure the claim on the north for the Lannister family.”

Sansa sighed.

“Yes, sure. Do you think I'll visit Casterly Rock any time soon? I'd love to leave King's Landing and to see the seaside in the Westerlands. I've also heard that it's a beautiful place.”

“Oh, it is, also in winter. You should see the Stone Gardens, for example, and Lannisport is a very nice and flourishing town, much more decent than the capital. A honeymoon there would be nice for you, I'm sure, but naturally, it's not my decision to make.”

Sansa smiled sadly about the fact that Lord Tywin could basically decide about everything, even the honeymoon. She resolved to do what she could – if necessary, she'd spend her honeymoon in Lord Tyrion's books. Over the last two years he had already lent her various volumes from his considerable personal library.

Together, they walked on a little bit, and Tyrion entertained her with stories and anecdotes from and descriptions of Casterly Rock. Sansa smiled more easily now.

She attempted to tell herself it would be all right. There would be no love between them, no attraction, but they'd get along, which was better than what many spouses had. It would only have been easier for Sansa, if her heart had not hurt so much, deep down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that now was the right time to show how much Cersei has deteriorated. One can see her development in the books, and now, I tried to figure out what she'd be like - two years later and forever separated from Jaime as a lover and from her son Joffrey. Therefore her bluntness, even in the presence of a septon. Hopefully, it was depicted in a credible way.


	10. Chapter 10

Tywin was not amused. Not at all.

His daughter had been seen drunk, attacking his fiancée – by Tyrion and, what was worse, by a septon. This didn't do.

Tywin wasn't blind: he had seen Cersei's growing alcohol consumption and the problems that stemmed from it. He also knew that the recent High Septon, also called “High Sparrow”, was a religious extremist and only biding his time to get a grip on his sinful daughter... and on the Crown as well.

It was also a reason for Tywin to actually marry Sansa. Under the influence of the recent currents of the Faith Westeros had become incredibly prudish in a very short time. Tywin had already been forced to prohibit brothels in King's Landing, much to the chagrin of Tyrion, Petyr Baelish and many other men. Harlots were forced to work in private now, and there had even been whore hunts in the streets that had been initiated by the sticklers of the Faith.

 

As a secular, ruthless lord, Tywin had never been overly interested in religion, and he would have liked to get rid of the High Septon, but the problem was that he had been busy with war before the winter and when Tywin had been able to refocus on the developments in the capital the High Sparrow had already gathered too many – also armed – zealots around him, so if the man had met an untimely end there would only have been upheavals, and the successor would likely have been just as fanatic.

For that reason, Tywin had decided to let winter wear down the religious rabble, and he had felt that in spring there would be enough time to act.

 

Now, however, he knew that the High Sparrow would try to grasp the golden opportunity to weaken the monarchy in order to establish some kind of theocracy. And he and Cersei had been playing into his hands with their recent behaviour.

Thus, certain measures had to be taken, and quickly so. Tywin would marry Sansa.

And Cersei... luckily, he had full discretionary power as the king's Hand.

 

“Father, I would have never believed it could happen to you, but you've been thinking with the extension between your legs when you bedded that wolf-bitch, I'm sorry to say. She's just waiting to take revenge and to wipe out the Lannisters. I've been telling you so ever since she murdered Joffrey, but nooo, you don't care to listen. You're getting old, father.”

 

Ire sparked off like wildfire inside of Tywin, but he only pressed his jaws together and didn't explode. He had allowed himself too many weak moments recently and he wasn't going to add another one.

 

“Maybe I'm getting old, daughter, but my senses are still sharper than yours. When was the last day you were completely sober? I can smell wine on you even now, and it's only morning.”

“What I drink or don't drink is none of your matter, and I'm doing nothing Tyrion isn't doing either,” Cersei spat.

“And here you're wrong, daughter. Yes, Tyrion is an abominable shame for the family, and a sinner; but he has neither committed adultery, nor incest, nor high treason. And though he loves his wine his drinking habits aren't out of control. He hasn't lost his cunning. He's not aggressive towards a widowed queen. I would have never believed the day would come, given how despicable Tyrion is, but these days you're the greater shame and – what's more – the greater danger for the family. And especially for your son, the king.”

 

Well, now Tywin had truly shocked his daughter.

She was white in the face when she asked: “What do you want to say, father?”

 

Tywin cleared his throat and announced: “The king has signed this paper here. It declares you ill and says that you need some special treatment, mentally and physically. For that reason, you are to be removed from the Red Keep and from King's Landing, and to be sent to the Quiet Isle in order to cure your ailments and to cleanse your soul.”

 

For a moment, Cersei's mouth hung open, and she gaped like a carp.

Then, she yelled: “NOOOOoo! You're not doing this! You monster of a father! Tyrion should have killed YOU during his birth, instead of mother!”

 

Tywin stiffened.

He called for his Gold Cloaks. Told them about the king's decree. Had them drag the rampaging Cersei out of the room. Her shouts and screeches could still be heard for a minute or so in the corridor.

Hopefully, her recovery and her repentance on the Quiet Isle would do her good. Tywin had heard that the Elder Brother, who was the monk in charge there, was unconventional and a successful healer. And hopefully, Cersei would see the wisdom in her father's decision one day. But he doubted it.

What surprised him was that he did feel anguish. He remembered his lively, confident, proud little girl who had grown into an outstanding, clever beauty and who had set out to become queen and to rule the Seven Kingdoms. It was a tragedy.

His next thoughts were whether his and Sansa's children would have a better future. All he could do in that context was hope.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuh, ok. I did the thing. I picked up certain aspects from the books, which I think haven't made it into the show. And Tywin is being an ultimate ass. Couldn't be helped.

Time flew by like an arrow, and suddenly, it was the day before the wedding. Tywin received Sansa's wedding dress as well as his own wedding cloak. The seamstresses had done an adequate job, given the short time. He also received the jewellery he had commissioned. The same was true for Sansa's wedding present: a goblet made of gold and silver, with intricate patterns and white crystal and ruby studs. Everything was going according to his plans.

 

In the meantime, he had also dined with his fiancée again, but she had been remote, and whenever he had tried to make conversation with her – a task he wasn't very apt for – she had directed the topic towards Tyrion. That had unnerved him, and he had ended their meal soon enough and parted.

 

The fact that gossip about them was still spreading like weeds didn't make things any more comfortable for Tywin. One evening, he had seen Lord Baelish trying to contact Sansa, but she had fended the man off with her cool, aloof demeanour. That was just the right way to handle the sleazy upstart, Tywin found. If only Sansa wouldn't treat himself in just the same way... Well, things would probably change after the wedding. Hopefully so.

 

After a long day, including a tedious meeting with the Small Council, Tywin made for the Tower of the Hand again. On his way, he decided to have a last look into his solar before retreating to his private chambers.

 

When he opened the door he was suddenly confronted with...

… his son's jovial laughter and the clanking of glasses.

Tywin gaped. Damn, what...!? His son had been admitted to his solar!? Oh, the guards in question who had allowed this would have to pay dearly for this sacrilege, he'd flog them publicly!

 

“Father! How nice to honour us with your presence! We've already been waiting. Welcome to your bachelor party!”

Tywin guessed that this was the first moment in his life when he was looking truly owlish.

In front of him were Tyrion, his grinning minion Bronn, Kevan (at least the traitor had the decency to look rather embarrassed)... and Tommen. Fuck. It was obvious that the boy king had been used as a human key to be allowed to enter the solar.

And the worst was that Tommen was beaming in happiness from ear to ear. He had wept when Cersei had disappeared, but he had obviously recovered all too quickly.

“Grandfather! Oh, this is such a surprise! It's so wonderful you're going to marry Lady Sansa. She's such a nice woman, and she likes Ser Pounce and Lady Whiskers and Boots. So you must really have a nice party now. Uncle Tyrion and me, we have already thought about a funny game, because he says that there are always little games during bachelor parties. All right: we're betting you won't manage to make seven Gold Cloaks sing “The Rains of Castamere” in the next fifteen minutes! And afterwards, we can eat some cake.”

The boy gestured towards a cake that was candle-shaped. Or rather... on closer inspection... it looked more like a cock than a candle, only the boy was still innocent enough not to notice.

 

Tywin became as rigid as a broomstick. All he wanted to do was to beat Tyrion to a pulp, but he couldn't do that in Tommen's presence.

For that reason, he simply turned on his heels and hissed: “You follow me. SON.”

Next, he strutted back into the corridor. The guards at the door looked as if they expected immediate decapitation. Obviously, they had not expected to face the boy king intent on entering his grandfather's solar and had not dared to deny the monarch – and his entourage – his wish. However, Tywin was the regent, and Tommen underage, so it was clear what would have had to be done. And what would ensue now.

Tywin turned to the guards and ordered: “You will remove the mess and the people inside my solar, and after your shift, you will remove yourselves and you will never return, or show your faces in the capital or in the Westerlands again. Under threat of death or service in the Night's Watch.”

The men looked immediately like curdled milk, and rightly so, but a moment later, they sprang into action to eradicate all possible signs of the so-called “bachelor party”.

 

“Surely it's not necessary to freak out about this little prank, father,” Tyrion had the insolence to say behind him.

With narrowed, green-golden eyes Tywin spun around and declared in a deadly voice: “You entered my solar, grossly misusing Tommen, and had the chance to look at my secret documents there. This sort of disrespect borders on high treason. What if anybody else picks up the idea and uses the boy to get access to my solar? And your so-called “prank” is in itself an affront of the lowest sort. How dare you? How DARE you! This will have consequences. Obviously, you haven't had enough work to do to come up with such an asinine idea. For that precise reason, you'll be appointed a new task: you'll be the king's new representative amongst the crannogmen. You are to pack now and to leave right after the wedding.”

 

That shut up his deformed imbecile of a son. Tyrion gaped at him in disbelief.

Then, he tried to speak up tentatively: “Father, I know you don't appreciate any japes, and I admit I wanted to have a tiny little fun at your expense; I also may have exaggerated it all, but I never intended to betray... and you surely...”

“Say another word, son, and you'll end up in Castle Black. I daresay you remember that place from your last stay. Only this time, it would be a permanent one – and I tell you that it would be my greatest pleasure to extirpate you from my periphery forever.”

Tyrion's face turned grey. Finally, he understood how absolutely serious Tywin was about this. Good.

Tyrion bowed a little, turned around and waddled away.

 

By then, Tommen, Bronn and Kevan were emerging from Tywin's solar.

The boy's eyes were wide in confusion.

“Grandfather, what is it?” he asked.

Tywin gazed at him and asked flatly: “Tommen, have you ever known me for a party lion?”

“Erm... no... but I thought that because of the wedding...”

The child was intelligent to falter before uttering another word.

“And there is another thing, grandson. Normally, nobody is allowed to enter my solar without me being present and allowing that person to come in. If I don't act now, anybody could talk you or force you into demanding to enter my study again, so that national secrets could be uncovered, and your rule could thus be overturned. So I have to make sure that this won't happen again, and I have to punish those who have been involved in this stupidity. Your punishment is to know you're responsible for the guards on duty losing their jobs and being banned from the Crown Lands and the Westerlands. Your uncle Tyrion will be sent away as well. Ser Bronn, I've heard you've got a new-born son with Lady Lollys, apart from her first bastard after the Bread Riots. Well. Your heir will be raised in Lord Tarly's household. You and your wife are free to choose, if you want to accompany him or not.”

For once, the common smirk was wiped from the former sellsword's face.

 

Tommen actually had the guts to interrupt him: “But grandfather, uncle Kevan was there to make sure that nobody was able to pry on your secrets!”

“Is my brother the Hand and the regent, or am I the one, Tommen?”

The boy was silent again. Shattered.

Instead, Kevan – who understood what a mistake he had made – simply asked: “Well, brother, and what do you have in store for me?”

Tywin looked into the distance. He breathed in and out.

“You won't be involved in the Small Council any more, Kevan.”

It was a lenient verdict in comparison to the other decisions, and yet a visible sign. Tywin's brother lowered his eyes and accepted it silently.

 

Behind them, the guards were just carrying out the cock cake.

Tywin told them: “Cut this monstrosity into little pieces so it cannot be recognized any more. Then distribute the morsels to the beggars in front of the Red Keep, and tell them that they're fed with my blessing. That way this morbid thing will have at least had a positive propaganda effect.”

 

And with those words, Tywin left the mess behind that had been triggered off by the “bachelor party” and made for his private quarters. He was feeling a bit of a headache, so he decided to go to bed at an uncharacteristically early our.

After all, he had to be fit for his wedding on the following day. He also had the definite feeling that he'd need all his strength for the bizarreness of what was coming up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be skin contact this time. For about a second or so.

Realizing that he wouldn't be able to sleep at once, because it was still early, Tywin sat down at the small desk in his bedroom and read some correspondence there; he simply couldn't help it. Once he'd have Sansa in his bed he'd probably have other things to do that would serve to make him tired, but for now...

 

Like so often since this fatal night spent together his thoughts drifted off to what had happened between them. He remembered the scars on his fiancée's back and how she had come by them. Joffrey was dead now and couldn't be punished for causing them any more, but the others in the King's Guard... Tywin couldn't allow Tommen to be surrounded by these men; they'd only corrupt the boy, apart from the fact that their loyalty in a case of emergency had to be doubted.

Yes. Yes, he'd do something about these men.

 

He rubbed his bridge with his fingers and finally decided to go to bed. Next, he put off all his clothes and folded them meticulously; a servant arrived, put them aside, draped a dressing gown over a nearby armchair and left again. Tywin slipped between the sheets and blew out the candle. This way, there was only the light from the fireplace left. He drew the curtains to exclude the flickering shadows as well.

 

Two minutes later, there was a hesitant knock on his door.

Tywin sat up again and huffed: “What is it?”

His servant's apologetic voice could be heard: “I'm awfully sorry to disturb you, Lord Hand, but the Lady Sansa is in the reception room and she doesn't want to leave.”

 

What!? What on earth did she have to do with him now, of all times?

“Tell her I'll be there in a minute.”

Hastily, Tywin put on the dressing gown to cover his nakedness. It was hardly a decent outfit, but since Sansa had already seen everything and was about to marry him he didn't care. Besides, she could barely expect him spick and span, having been told that he had yet been abed.

 

He walked over to the other room.

Sansa swallowed when she saw him.

“There must have happened some sort of catastrophe that you dare to disturb my sleep, Lady Sansa,” he began.

“I'm... I'm awfully sorry for bothering you, Lord Hand. It's just...”

Her voice was tiny.

“It's just what?”

“On my way back from evening mass I chanced upon Lord Tyrion, and he was deeply upset.”

“I bet he was.”

“Is it true that you're sending him away to the Neck? To the crannogmen?”

“Yes.”

“I know that Howland Reed was a good friend of my father, and I'm sure they're good people, but it's no place for Lord Tyrion. He couldn't well bring along his books, because they'd mould in the swamps, and the sogginess would be bad for your son's bones. He'd suffer.”

“You don't say so,” Tywin answered with little interest.

 

Suddenly, there was a hand on his own one, and he started violently.

“Stop it!” he hissed at Sansa.

She looked up at him, doe-eyed.

“Lord Hand, please, I beg you... I... I don't need any other wedding present, but if you mean to send Tyrion away, do it to a place he can handle.”

Tywin narrowed his eyes, trapped Sansa between a wall and his body by putting his arms and hands left and right from her head and by bringing down his face right in front of hers.

“You're trying to manipulate me,” he growled.

Sansa was obviously frightened now, but she still looked him back in the eyes, something very few people had ever managed to do in Tywin's already pretty long life.

She breathed: “Is it really manipulation, if you know I'm trying to change your mind?”

 

Tywin hissed again. Their faces were so close now that he could sense her body warmth. Perhaps it was because of the light situation, but Sansa's lips looked darker than usual. And he could see a fluttering motion at her pulse point that indicated her excitement. Tywin suddenly didn't know which of either spots he wanted to kiss and to lick and to suck first.

Yet, he contained himself. His last kissing attack had driven her away, and he wouldn't allow himself this weakness again.

 

The problem was that he could also smell her scent, could see how she was breathing faster...

… and though his resolution not to molest her was strong one particular body part was beyond his control.

What was worse: just at that moment, Sansa broke their eye contact, as if she were sensing his arousal. Her eyes widened when she discovered the telltale bulge in his dressing gown, which was even visible though he was still standing a little stooped over her. Well, the stoop wasn't considerable, as Sansa was very tall for a woman. Damn, and why in his arrogance did he like to wear skin tight clothes?

“What, woman? My body is remembering your little cunt and is reacting like any healthy male body would. Am I supposed to apologize for that? No. Waiting for an excuse would be futile, I tell you. I'm not going to say sorry for getting hard, because that's normal for a man.”

 

His fiancée flinched, and he thought she'd finally give up her endeavour and flee him like she had done before.

But suddenly, something happened Tywin had not expected at all: slowly, Sansa reached out for for him. Her fingers were trembling slightly.

Tywin simply watched, spellbound.

Gingerly, she touched the belt of his dressing gown. And opened it.

Tywin's heartbeat accelerated, and he couldn't believe what he was experiencing.

The ends of the belt fell away and the seams opened, so that his naked front was uncovered.

Sansa's eyes became as huge as saucers; her looks raked up and down his body, across his curly, greying chest hair, and froze when she gazed at his protruding shaft.

 

“Well?” he purred darkly into her ear. “What do you say? Old?”

Sansa gulped audibly and flushed crimson.

“You're... the way I remember you. A real lion, I guess. Only... I can't compare you to anyone else.”

“I see. Hmm, I daresay that there are less physical specimen in Westeros,” he murmured, his lips nearly ghosting over hers.

Nearly, but not quite. They could feel each other's fast, hot breathing.

Sansa's chest was heaving, but he wasn't faring much better.

“You know, Lady Sansa...”, he mused after quite a long silence.

“Y-yes, Lord Hand?”

“Maybe Oldtown is a better place than the Neck. I'm not interested in my son's fate, but books are precious. I can't let them mould.”

There was a little tremor in her voice now: “Thank you, Lord Hand.”

“Don't mention it. And do you think you have ogled my cock long enough now, Lady Sansa? Though I appreciate your appreciation we should probably better end this. I'm not quite sure, if I can hold back much longer.”

Sansa uttered a squeal, averted her eyes and palmed her hot cheeks. Had Tywin had a more jovial nature he would have laughed because of her sudden maidenly embarrassment. The way it was, he simply stepped back a little and closed his dressing gown with his belt again.

Casually, he added: “You know what I'd like? If you licked me like a licked you. Very sensual experience.”

Sansa squealed again, and she managed to utter with difficulty: “Yes, yes, keep just punishing me with your outrageous words after me having behaved like a hussy. Gods. I... I need to go.”

With a quick motion, she ducked away from under his harms, freed herself and dashed out of the room. Tywin looked after her and knew he hadn't desired a woman like this for decades. He feared that the consequence would be that the wedding night would be over all too soon, if he didn't get a grip on himself.

 

Actually, he should better grip a certain part of himself now, he realized. His body was starting to hurt. Moreover, his momentary sexual frustration caused him some irritation again, and he walked back towards his bed to alleviate his urge. The valet would change the linen and the covers in the morning anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had so much work to do today that my brain is mush. Hope it hasn't had too much of a negative effect on the writing...

Sansa was weeping again.

What was going on with her? Which madness had taken root within her to want to see a naked, aroused Lord Lannister, and to actually strip him bare?

Gods! The shame!

She was having the strangest feelings these days. As if she didn't have herself under control any more. As if she was missing something important she should know.

Sansa had wanted to touch Lord Tywin, had felt the incredible need to repeat what she had done with him once already. Her wantonness was horribly shocking, she found.

 

It had been impossible to meet Tyrion face to face after this incident, but she had written and sent him a note with the good news that his new destination would be Oldtown, which would be a far more convenient place for him.

Sansa also thought that she wanted to come to Oldtown as well, because it was said to be a very nice city, and a place of many educated people, what with the many maesters and the countless books one could read there.

 

For now, however, she couldn't really think of those things. Sansa was too excited after what she had experienced in the quarters of the Hand.

How was she supposed to sleep and to live through the upcoming wedding now?

Desperate, she opted for a tiny little drop of the milk of the poppy. Normally, she didn't want to have any sedatives, but under these circumstances...

After all, she needed to be rested for the upcoming wedding night. Sansa shivered and forbade herself any musings about the consummation of the marriage.

Finally, she fell asleep.

 

The soporific took its toll, more so than she would have thought, and Sansa actually slept much longer than she had thought. Her maids had to shake her awake forcefully, because she wouldn't rise herself. Even then, she was still drowsy and didn't care about the hubbub setting in around her. On her periphery she noticed that her wedding dress was delivered alongside with some jewellery, but as much as she was usually interested in fashion she didn't give the gown a second thought.

Of course, she was bathed, and flowery-smelling ointments were rubbed into her skin; one servant even epilated her legs with tweezers. The tweaks caused her to come more awake.

During the process Sansa was also served breakfast, but she wasn't very hungry.

On and on the room maids swarmed around her, doing her hair, putting drops of perfume behind her ears and doing other things to turn her into a perfect bride. Sansa, however, felt reduced to an object and simply let the women do what was necessary because it was what was expected of her. Meanwhile, her mind was strangely blank.

 

To her surprise, a noble lady asked to see her before the ceremony in the sept. Sansa had to find out that it was Lady Genna Frey, Lord Tywin's sister. Not knowing what to say to that she allowed the woman to enter her dressing room.

The elderly lady swept into her chamber, at once occupying the space with her presence.

“Lady Sansa! I've just heard about the wedding. And by the look of it... are you really intending to go through with it?”

Sansa looked at her, not knowing how to treat the other woman.

“I've signed the wedding contract, and I'm in the process of dressing for the wedding. No, I won't turn tail and run, Lady Genna,” she said politely, but with emphasis.

The other woman offered her a sceptical smile.

“I know, and it's very brave. It's just that I wanted to offer you my support in case you had any doubts. If necessary, I'd even take it upon myself to talk to the groom, if you thought it was getting too much for you.”  
“This is very kind, Lady Genna. Yet, I've found out lately that I have to and that I can speak for myself.”

The Frey – or still rather Lannister – woman cocked her head like a bird that was looking at an interesting object.

“You're a determined woman, Lady Sansa. And you're still so very, VERY young. I wonder... Well, I wish you the very best and that you may find some happiness in marriage. The heavens know that this is no easy task in a political alliance.”

Sansa smiled and answered: “It's true, but I've heard from my parents that such an alliance can still turn into respect and friendship and even love. So I'll try to be optimistic.”

“A laudable attitude, Lady Sansa, and a mature one for your age. Let me just repeat it: should you ever need any female help and support I'll always be there for you.”

Sansa flashed the elder woman a brilliant smile... and didn't believe a single word. She had lived too long the the viper's nest that the Red Keep was and didn't – couldn't – trust anyone any more. It was a pity she had become so deeply distrustful, but she had simply learned too many dark lessons.

When Lady Genna had patted her hand and had taken her leave Sansa had a first closer look at herself in the mirror. Yes, she'd look the part. She was still proud enough to be content that her appearance wouldn't resemble a visual mess.

 

An hour later, she arrived in front of the chapel.

Lord Tywin was already there and waiting for her, very erect and regal, clad in the finest purple-golden fabric embroidered with lions. Sansa's heartbeat reacted, there was no helping it, and she felt embarrassed.   
Lord Tywin offered her his arm and asked: “Shall we go?”

She took his elbow and nodded.

The door to the little chapel opened. The few guests turned around to watch them enter.

Sansa furrowed her brow.

Why was there nobody else at the end of the aisle? Where was Tyrion?

She looked around – and spotted him, sitting in the second row of some benches, behind King Tommen, Ser Kevan Lannister, Lady Genna and... an extremely gloomy Arya.

Sansa was confused.

The second septon in rank of the Red Keep appeared and looked... and looked at...

 

Click.

The missing puzzle piece fell into place in her mind.

Sansa's eyes widened in shocked understanding.

“Gods, I'm such an incredible oaf,” she thought.

An then, she threw back her head and laughed, no, guffawed in the most unladylike way possible, and the echoes of her sounds of levity bounced off the vaulted ceiling of the chapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't help myself. I haven't watched season 4, but I've seen a certain scene with Arya, so yes, it is an intended reference.


	14. Chapter 14

What on earth...!?

Tywin had never really heard or seen Sansa laugh freely before – and now, of all moments, she had to lose control over herself? And what had caused her to laugh so suddenly where she had been so serious until seconds before? What was she laughing about? Was she laughing at him for some reason?

As a man completely without humour Tywin didn't understand – and that made him angry. That and the fact that his bride's behaviour was completely inadequate in this official context. The guests were already goggling at her indecent spectacle, and the whole story would be circling in the Red Keep mere minutes after the end of the ceremony.

 

Tywin's features tightened, and he hissed at Sansa: “What is this madness, woman? Stop it at once and pull yourself together!”

Well, she did put a hand onto her mouth, nodded and tried to calm down, but tears were streaming down her face already, reflecting her exhilaration. It was a disgrace, and Tywin felt angrier and angrier by the moment – but in contrast to his bride he managed to keep himself in check.

Sansa leaned in towards him and whispered: “Apologies, my lord. I'm laughing at my own obtuseness.”

Now, that was a concept he understood even less than laughter in general.

Tywin shook his head slightly and growled: “Regain. Your. Countenance.”

 

Being stiff like a rod, he all but dragged her down the aisle then, and there they stood in front of the confused septon. Sansa tried to make a serious face, but she broke into giggles again several times. And she had a hiccup. It was humiliating.

Tywin's vows sounded icy when he spoke them. Sansa's voice wobbled a little from restrained laughter, but it was loud, the complete opposite of what it had been like during the wedding with Joffrey.

Next came the point with the cloak. Tywin took off his heavy brocade Lannister cloak and fastened it around Sansa's shoulders – and he was tempted to strangle her with the chain of the brooch that was supposed to hold the fabric together. But then, he saw Sansa's bright, blue, sparkling eyes, and even for a sour man like him it was evident that there was nothing but happiness in them.

Sansa Stark... Baratheon... Lannister... was happy at the prospect of marrying him!? That could only prefigure serious problems for his family. Cersei had warned him. Had she been right after all?

 

“With this kiss I pledge myself to you,” he ground out and gave Sansa a little peck on the corner of her mouth. Amongst the guests he could hear her little unruly wolf-bitch of a sister utter something that sounded like “yuck”. If that hellion dared to disturb the wedding Tywin would marry her off to the most disgusting bachelor in Westeros, he swore to himself.

 

“With this kiss I pledge myself to you,” Sansa echoed his statement...

… and the next moment, her arms went around his neck, her body pressed itself flush against his, and she kissed him full on his mouth.

There was a retching noise from Arya Stark's position.

And Tywin – he was aghast of this unrestrained public sign of affection, and at the same time, he was thunderstruck and furious as well. Until it all evaporated under the impression of Sansa's sweet, hungry mouth that dragged out the caress shamelessly.

Fuck. How was it possible that she wanted to kiss him like that of her own accord? And with such vigour?

Before he had bedded her she had appeared to be a lifeless, bloodless doll.

Now, she was incredibly alive.

 

Finally, Sansa let go of him and retreated enough to look him in the eyes. At that very moment, Tywin wanted to get to the bedding part then and there and to fuck his bride into oblivion.

But a heartbeat later, reality closed in on them again. The shockwaves of what Sansa had just done could still be felt in the chapel. One simply didn't embrace and snog the ruthless, old Hand of the King. The Lannister patriarch, who was responsible for “The Rains of Castamere”. The absolutely vicious, cold Lion of Casterly Rock.

And Sansa Stark-Baratheon-Lannister hadn't given a damn and had just treated him... well, like an exceptionally happy bride. A loving bride. But love was impossible. It was out of the question.  
Lord Tywin didn't get it, and he would have become angry again, had Sansa not smiled at him the way she did.

So all that could be done was to win back a more or less composed posture and to allow the septon to finish his duty by declaring them husband and wife.

 

Wife.

The mere thought made Tywin feel strangely light-headed. He had never wanted to have a wife again. Had always avoided to let another woman into his life after Joanna's death.

For a moment, he felt guiltier than he had ever done for any atrocity he had ordered to be committed. For a few seconds, the wedding felt like betraying his deceased first wife.

Then, however, he suddenly heard Joanna's voice in his ear: “Gods be good, finally you're listening to the voice of reason, you proud, block-headed man! Damn, Ty, what do you think you were doing all those lonely years, putting me on a pedestal like that? It was adequate that you mourned me, yes, but behaving like an undead wight for all those years – do you think that THAT did the family any good? Go, go and LIVE.”

 

Tywin shook his head in confusion. What had that just been? He didn't really believe in visions, but...

Oh, well, there was no time to ponder this. There were wedding guests who wanted (or had to) congratulate him and Sansa, and there was still a wedding feast ahead.

Tywin gazed at his younger son. One look into Tyrion's guarded face, and it was clear that he wouldn't call for a bedding ceremony later. Good. One folly less on the agenda.

 

Tommen was beaming at them. His congratulations were probably the most heartfelt ones. Kevan smiled at him in a self-conscious way. His brother was clearly still remembering the bachelor party. His wife, Dorna their son Lancel and their daughter Janei were present as well, and Lancel looked like a wounded animal. No wonder. Tywin had heard rumours about him and Cersei, which crowned his daughter's knack for family incest. 

With difficulty, Tywin refocused on the present.

Genna and her elder surviving sons – recently-widowed Lyonel and young Tion – were in the chapel as well, and his sister was looking at him with arched eyebrows.

Arya was glaring daggers at them. Candid at least, this one. Not too bad.

Unfortunately, Lord Baelish and Grand Maester Pycelle had found out about the wedding, too, and had wormed themselves into the chapel. Confounded lickspittles.

 

After the first congratulations, the wedding party made for the dining room. Sansa was on his arm and still beaming as if she had swallowed two suns.

When the feast began and the food was served Tywin handed her the goblet that was supposed to be the wedding gift – and his bride shocked them all by squealing in delight and kissing him again. Damn, how should he react to this? He didn't appreciate wild public caresses, but he couldn't couldn't well be cross with Sansa for being a happy bride. And a hungry one at that.

Sansa tried out each course and complimented him for choosing the dishes he had ordered. During other wedding feasts the brides were nervous (or at least pretended to be so), taciturn, only pecked at their plates listlessly and drank as much wine as possible to survive the bedding and the consummation of the marriage.

It was clear that Sansa didn't care one whit about these norms, probably because she already had an idea of what would happen in bed and wasn't afraid of it. Anyway: she chatted animatedly with Kevan across the table and charmed the children present – Tommen and Janei – with her laughter. Arya only glowered at her sister and refused to talk to her. Stupid brat, obdurate like her late oh so honourable father. Someone had to teach that girl some common sense, and soon.

 

“My lord,” Sansa addressed him, “I've got to follow the call of nature. Will you excuse me for a few minutes?”

Tywin nodded and answered: “Of course, my lady.”

So Sansa got up and made for the privy. Mere moments afterwards, Arya rose as well and followed her sister. The little wolf-bitch didn't return.

 

When Sansa came back, however, something had obviously happened between them: Tywin's bride wasn't in a merry mood any more. All happiness seemed to have dissipated, and the walls Sansa had erected around herself in the past were back in place.

Tywin couldn't believe it, and at once, he became frustrated and angry again. Damn. This stupid Stark girl! He should have anticipated this.

Oh, but in a few minutes he and his bride would be alone in the bedroom, and then he'd open a breach in her façade. Determined, Tywin rose and asked Sansa: “As there will be no bedding ceremony for us – will you accompany me to our rooms now?”

She looked up at him with blank eyes, and she simply answered in a hollow, remote voice: “As it pleases my lord.”

Had Tywin been a child like Tommen he would have stomped his foot. Since this was out of the question he simply tore at her elbow and steered her out of the dining room, nodding into every direction and thus declaring that they would retire.

In the corridors, he silently pressed a piece of paper into Sansa's hand. He had meant to give it to her later as some sort of last trump before things would get more heated, but he didn't care any more.  
Tywin stopped and simply ordered Sansa: “Read.”

 

His wife obeyed and unfolded the paper.

It said:

“Osmund Kettleblack → Skagos

Balon Swann → the Wall

Maryn Trant → Ibben.”

 

Sansa looked up at him, still distant, and murmured: “Thank you, my lord.”


	15. Chapter 15

Tywin's frustration rose to a new high. He had not expected enthusiasm, but had still hoped for a more positive reaction. Angry, he turned away from his bride and walked on to their chambers. Sansa followed him silently.

 

When they had arrived he had at once a good look at the bedroom to check if everything was all right.

Fire? Crackling in the fire place, adequate size.

Linen on the bed? Fresh.

Decanter with wine and goblets? Next to the bed.

Basket with some snacks? On the little side table near the fire place.

Utensils they might need? Next to the bed.

Water for washing in a jug? At the washstand.

Yes, his servants had been careful. Good.

 

He turned around, took Sansa's hand and led her to the bed. There, he sat down and looked up at her.

“What has happened between you and Arya? Why are you suddenly cold and sad where you were merry back in the chapel?” Tywin demanded to know.

He was still holding her hand. Sansa didn't try to withdraw it, and he wouldn't have let her anyway, but she looked into the distance. She breathed in and out deeply.

“Arya has simply reminded me of the fact that you and my brother have waged war against each other not long ago... and that the Lannister family has harmed the Starks so much over the years,” she explained hesitantly.

Tywin didn't understand her point.

“That's true, Sansa, but it's nothing you didn't know before the wedding as well. And then, you still chose marriage.”

Sansa curled her lips, perhaps at being addressed by her first name.

“Yes, I know. Arya was unhappy about the match to begin with; her choice would have been a different one, I guess, but she accepted mine with some grumbling on her side. What she found truly disgusting, however, was that I was happy during the ceremony. She said that the way I threw myself at the most disgusting enemy's neck was a shame for the Stark family, that I was a traitor, and that it would cause our father to turn in his grave. And the worst thing is that Arya is right. I AM a traitor to my family.”

 

Tywin cursed inwardly. The blasted little Stark girl with her twisted northern honour!

Aloud, he spoke: “Your sister is taking the easy way out here. It is true that there has been bad blood between our families, but wedding alliances have always been a means to solve such problems. Sometimes, it works, and the conflicting parties can be friends again. Sometimes, however, it doesn't work – and why? Because of such obstinacy and ongoing hatred like your sister's. With such stubbornness as hers she could make it difficult, or impossible to live in relative peace again and could thus cause more bad blood. Arya is taking the easy way out by rejecting any compromise. Moreover, it's simple for her to demand to sacrifice all possible happiness that might arise from our union; simple to demand a life of permanent frustration from you. Is it sisterly love to want to make you unhappy? Besides, you have proven to be more of a leader with your choice. It's not just opportunistic and even less some sort of a betrayal, if you want to bring peace to whatever remains of the Stark blood. Compromises are normal in politics, they're not betrayal – something Arya still has to learn. And if you had read the marriage contract you'd know that I mean to re-establish a Northern bloodline at Winterfell with our children and to rebuild the castle after the winter.”

 

Finally, he had Sansa's attention.

“Our children? As Starks in Winterfell again? But I'm a Lannister now!”

“I'm delighted you already see it that way, but honestly – has marrying Robert ever made Cersei a Baratheon? And it pains me to say so, but even at your young age you're better at adapting than my daughter has ever been. Why did Robert's and Cersei's marriage not work out and lead to so much grief and destruction after all? Because they were both unwilling to try to make their relationship work. Robert could never let go of Lyanna and other women, and he was incapable of caring about the wife he had. Cersei... I don't want to speak about her. But I'd wish it to be different with us.”

 

Tywin usually wasn't a man of so many words, nor was he patient enough for complicated explanations, so he felt strange after his long sermon. Fortunately, he had the feeling he had struck a chord within Sansa. She wasn't thrilled with joy, unlike she hag been in the chapel, but thoughtful and not so unapproachable any more. His bride even went as far as to slowly run the fingers of her free hand through his sideburns.  
He winced, as he wasn't accustomed to being touched like that. To overact his discomfort he let go of her and started to unfasten her front laces.

His bride made no move to fend him off, but she blushed. It was hardly a surprise – she wasn't a maid any more in the physical sense, but she didn't know much about intimacies yet.

Slowly, Tywin unclothed her. It had been so long he had done that, decades, and he had partly forgotten about it, but he found he quite liked the task.

 

After some minutes, Sansa was naked, and Tywin couldn't help but think that the sight was spectacular. She was mature for her age, with round hips and enticing little breasts, and she looked easily two years older than she actually was. Her beauty was nothing short of stunning.

His bride looked into the distance, because she was naturally somewhat embarrassed, but she didn't lift a hand to try to cover herself. Her sweet scent reached him.

Tywin's body reacted. Looking at her red triangle right in front of him he understood then why he had been so willing to eat her out the first time.

 

Quickly, he stood up and put off his own clothes. For the briefest moment, he was actually a bit self-conscious with regard to his age. He was fit for his age, true, but the gap between them was more visible, now that they were both naked. Yet, he wasn't really one to fret over these things, and he guided them both onto the mattress.

“Lie on your stomach,” Tywin asked his bride.

Sansa was a bit confused now, since her few sexual experiences so far didn't include this variant, but she consented.

Next, Tywin reached down to where some tools had been placed next to the bes and reached for a phial with scented oil. He hadn't been sure beforehand whether it would be possible to really arouse his bride... and he still wasn't. At the same time, he wanted things to go as smoothly as possible, so he intended to prepare her properly. It was good that he had seen to his primal needs in the morning during his bath, so that he wasn't quite as... impatient as he would have usually been. He could help Sansa to get ready for what lay ahead of them. Hopefully, it would pay off later.

 

“Spread your legs,” Tywin advised her.

Sansa flushed crimson, but did as she was asked. He could see her exposed womanhood, the pink flesh, and his cock twitched in anticipation.

“I'll touch you with my hands now. Try to breathe evenly and to stay relaxed.”

“All... all right,” Sansa mumbled.

For a moment, Tywin simply laid a hand on one of her buttocks and enjoyed the sensation. Then, he sprinkled the first droplets of oil onto the delicate skin and set to work.


	16. Chapter 16

Sansa was incredibly nervous all of a sudden, and her nakedness did embarrass her as well. After all, intimacies were still so new to her. She remembered the pain she had felt the first time down there between her legs, but she tried to tell herself that the second time was supposed to be much easier.

Yet, when an oily finger first moved along the outside of her woomanhood and then slipped into her she squealed.

“I'm sorry, my lord,” she apologized hastily.

“Just relax,” Tywin repeated, not unkindly.

Sansa nodded into her cushion and tried to do what was asked of her, but it was easier said than done.

The finger moved in and out, some more oil was added and the process continued. After a moment, Sansa realized that this didn't really hurt. The intrusion was still a bit strange, but one or two minutes later, the movement started to feel acceptable, or even quite nice.

“Better?” her bridegroom asked.

“Hmhm,” she murmured.

“Good. I'll add a second finger to widen you further.”

Whoops. Well, as he surely intended to insert something else as well this was probably a useful procedure. Still, she couldn't help but squeal again when she felt a second finger enter her. Her breathing accelerated, and her heartbeat resounded madly in her chest.

“Pain?” Tywin wanted to know.

“A... a bit tight. Gods. I'm such a chicken.”

A shaky laugh on her side – followed by a gasp.

“Could be worse. You're not in pain, and you're not panicking. Everything else is normal for the first time, I guess. The first conscious time, that is.”

Tywin's fingers were still moving in a steady rhythm. It was... somehow unsettling. Sansa wanted him to stop, and at the same time, she wanted him to go on. Her conflicting feelings confused her.

 

Finally, he removed his hand, knelt between her legs and raised his upper body.

“Get onto your hands and knees, Sansa.”

She obeyed, though she didn't understand. Only when he slid behind her and rubbed his... shaft against her folds did she understand he meant to have her in a position different from the one she had got to know the first time.

Oh. Sansa hadn't known it was possible in this way, scanty as her information on the matter had been; she had assumed she'd always lie on her back, and the things she remembered from their drugged coupling had confirmed her in that belief. Now, she was all the more surprised... and also worried.

“My lord... this way you'll see my back with the scars all the time,” she dared to object.

“I know, Sansa. They'll always remind me that you're a survivor.”

Sansa was surprised. She had never seen it from this angle, but she had no time to ponder this: without further ado, Tywin started to press into her.

 

She uttered a slightly whiny gasp and was immediately ashamed of herself... and embarrassed of the alien presence down in her private parts.

“Pain?” her bridegroom asked again.

Well, it was indeed a bit uncomfortable.

“A little,” she admitted, “but it's not like the first time.”

“Your body is still adapting. It'll become better. Like I said before: breathe evenly and will your muscles to relax.”

 

Slowly, he started to move in and out, keeping very much the same rhythm he had done with his fingers. Sansa didn't know what to think, what to feel: on the one hand, it was still so foreign, but on the other hand, it seemed to be pretty simple.

The initial discomfort had abated, and it started to feel a bit like, well... a massage on the inside. Slowly, Sansa went slack.

“Getting better?” she heard Tywin ask from behind.

“Hmhm,” she mumbled affirmatively.

Sansa didn't know whether she liked it that she couldn't see or embrace him, or whether she wasn't happier that he didn't see her embarrassment.

 

She couldn't really assess the time they had spent for their first drugged coupling, but she knew exactly that now it was taking much, much longer. Sansa asked herself which version was more normal.

Tywin seemed to be very controlled and held her waist. Still she could hear his accelerated breathing. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

From time to time, Sansa started to press her face into the cushion so as to stifle some sounds she might accidentally utter. She wanted to be a good wife, and not to appear like a wanton tavern wench again. Surely, her husband wouldn't appreciate it, if she was too emotional. But oh, the friction that was caused by his thrusts started to feel increasingly nice. If it could always be like that she'd like to do her duties as a wife.

 

In the end, the movements became more erratic, finishing with a heavy thrust and a little grunt behind Sansa. Then, some liquid entered her, and she felt embarrassed again, because she realized after a second or two what it was.

Another few seconds, and Tywin withdrew. 

 

It was strange, but Sansa suddenly felt empty, somehow, as if it shouldn't be over yet.

She noticed her bridegroom sink down next to her and allowed herself to sink onto her stomach again.

“Are you all right?” he asked, still panting.

She smiled slightly.

“Yes, of course. You were... careful.”

Tywin nodded contentedly, serious like always, but in a more laid-back fashion than usually.

“Fine. There's water over there at the washstand, and a piece of cloth, should you want to need it.”

“Thank you. That's mindful.”

Tywin just hummed in response and closed his eyes. A moment later – he had fallen asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I've got some ideas in my head, but somehow, it's a little difficult these days to turn the scenes into words.

Sansa couldn't believe it. Her... bridegroom in deep slumber? Was that normal?

She scratched her head and was very confused. And somehow restless. In contrast to her... lord husband she wasn't tired at all. Besides, she felt sticky between her legs, which added to her discomfort.

Hadn't Lord – no, just Tywin – said she could wash herself? That sounded like a very good idea.

 

She stood up, walked over to the washstand and cleaned up the signs from their coupling. Afterwards, Sansa felt much better, but she was still somewhat fidgety and knew she wouldn't find any peace in bed now.  
So – what should she do now?

She needed some movement and probably a chance to think things through. Hmmm...

Well, since Tywin was asleep he'd surely not mind, if she had a little walk to calm down.

 

Quickly, she put on her smallclothes and she even found a simple dress with front laces in one of the little chests that had been transported from her old lodgings to Lord Lannisters suite. Of course, she was as quiet as a mouse so as not to wake her husband.

Husband. 

That word still tasted so weird on her tongue, especially with regard to the bridegroom in question. Never in her entire life would she have guessed that Lord Tywin would take her maidenhood and become the man at her side.

Her father wouldn't have approved of this arrangement, that much was sure – but given how it had all developed she couldn't believe that the Lannister patriarch was the worst option for a wedded life. Joffrey, in comparison, would have been so, so much more of a horror in everyday life; of that Sansa was convinced.

 

Stealthily, she tiptoed to the door and opened it.

Outside, two guards turned around and looked at her, alarmed.

“My lady, what's the matter?”

“Everything is all right. I just wanted to stroll a little bit through the keep, because I can't sleep.”

The men looked at her, wide-eyed and incredulity written all over their features, but they didn't question her intentions.

Only the man on the right said: “You shouldn't walk alone in the keep, my lady. Your lord husband would want to be sure you're safe.”

Sansa nodded her assent, immediately seeing the wisdom in these words: “That's a good idea. You may accompany me then. What's your name?”

The guard was shocked. It became obvious that Tywin didn't address his servants by their names.

“Giraud, my lady. And I'm honoured to be of service to you.”

Sansa inclined her head like a true lady and tried to smile. From the time she had been the king's ward and a helpless victim she had retained an aversion against guards, but she didn't want to take her dislikes out on the man.

 

They slowly walked down the corridors and wherever they met an inhabitant of the castle – be it a servant or a courtier – Sansa earned polite, but slightly confused bows and greetings.

The behaviour caused her to muse silently: “They think I should be with my bridegroom now – but what do they know about what is good for me? They'd gossip about any of my movements anyway. It's always been like that, from the moment I arrived here; only back then I was too naïve to see that. Hm... where to now? Oh, yes, the reception room. There might still be a couple of guests left.”

 

With new confidence Sansa directed her steps to the place in question.


	18. Chapter 18

When she opened the door she found that Tommen and Arya had already left, which was no surprise – and Sansa was actually relieved not to meet her sister again this night. Others, however, were still there: Kevan Lannister and his sister Genna were standing near the fireplace and conferring about something, while Genna's widowed son, Tyrion and Ser Bronn were sitting in another corner and enjoying their time with wine... and a female servant with a very low neckline, who was sitting on Ser Bronn's thigh.

 

They all started to stare at her as soon as they noticed her entering the room. Suddenly, Sansa thought that it had probably not been a good idea to come back here.

She nodded politely at the people present and turned towards the table where the rests of food from their feast, as well as the wine, had been placed and took a plate and a goblet to fill it.

 

“Dearest Lady Lannister, I'm surprised to welcome you back amidst the revellers,” an oily voice spoke up to her from behind.

“Lord Baelish, and I'm surprised to meet you at this wedding feast since I know you haven't been invited,” Sansa answered in a cool tone, not caring to turn around. Instead, she just kept putting some cold roast and a slice of bread onto her plate.

As she could see from the corners of her eyes, the little man with the goatee pressed his hand on his heart in a rather exaggerated way, she felt, and answered: “It makes me sad that I – as your late mother's old friend – am not considered worthy to celebrate your great day. But let me tell you that I am here for a political discussion with Lord Kevan. The better question, however, is: why are YOU here? Wasn't your bridegroom's attention... comprehensive enough?”

 

Sansa was shocked: by Lord Baelish's insolence to address such a private topic as well as the fact that he was making such a tactical mistake. Was he drunk? Deep down, the fact that he wasn't even wrong with his assumption made things even worse, but she wasn't willing to admit it to herself and even less to him. Fortunately, her initial feelings quickly gave way to annoyance.

 

Batting her eyelashes, Sansa looked up at the guard at her side and spoke to him: “Good man, you've already served Lord Lannister for a while, I presume?”

“Yes, my lady. And well, I believe. Otherwise you wouldn't have found me where I was.”

“Indeed. Now – tell me, it's still true that the Lord Hand represents the king, isn't it? Especially if the Lord Hand is also the regent, because the king hasn't come of age yet.”

The guard was confused, but answered readily: “Yes, sure, everyone knows that.”

Sansa nodded.

“I hoped you'd say that. So defamation with regard to the Hand's – shall we say – capabilities would also mean defamation of the king himself. I'd think that a political enemy might interpret that easily as treason. And react accordingly.”

 

Finally, Lord Baelish, who was indeed a little befuddled, had understood what Sansa had been getting at, and he clearly started to strive for a limitation of the damage done.

“Well, I'm relieved then that I'm not talking to a political enemy and that you have surely understood that my private question was only an assertion of your well-being – and in no way some sort of criticism of the Hand.”

Over the years, Sansa had learned to understand the ways of court life, and she had learned them the hard way.

So she showed Lord Baelish a petite smile and answered: “Ah, yes, it's good that it was me who heard your words and not my husband. It is generally known that I am more lenient than him. – Giraud, my husband still knows how to play the “Rains of Castamere”, doesn't he?”

“I'd certainly think so, my lady.”

“Yes. Right. – You see, Lord Baelish. I won't tell my husband about your words, and I'm sure you want to make sure nobody else hears them, which means you won't repeat them.”

The man called “Littlefinger” looked at her. His face didn't betray his feelings, but likely he was understanding that he wasn't talking to a harmless, naïve little girl any more. Good.

“My lady, no, I won't talk about it again, and let me apologize to you, should I have said anything untoward.”

“Apology accepted.”

That was all Sansa had to reply to Lord Baelish's flimsy excuses. Next, she simply turned around with the plate of food in her hand and walked over to the group around Tyrion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Sansa deals with Littlefinger - I'm no modern crime series expert, but while revising that part of the chapter it suddenly occurred to me that Sansa and Tywin would make a fantastic "good cop - bad cop" mix.  
> Along the lines: "I'm the nice lady - you dead sure don't want to annoy my partner, do you? So better cooperate."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. Hope you had/are having a nice weekend. I certainly did. And towards the evening, I found some time for typing. Enjoy! :-)

Tywin's younger son greeted her with arched eyebrows while the woman with the outrageous cleavage was hurrying away, and he showed one of his typical smirks: “Lady Sansa – or shall I say “mother”? Welcome in our round! Take a seat.”

Sansa chided him gently: “Oh, please, don't you ever call me “mother”; that's ridiculous, and you know it well.”

Tyrion sighed and answered: “I guess I won't be calling you anything in the near future. Bronn and me, we'll leave early in the morning. No need to annoy my father again.”

Sansa nodded and answered: “I see. At least, you can move to Oldtown now.”

At that moment, Bronn cut in and said to Tyrion: “See – I told you it was her doing that you don't have to go to the frogeaters in the bog.”

Now, Sansa's criticism became harsher: “Ser Bronn, these people were my father's friends. They were loyal and brave. Don't speak about them in such an insulting way.”

“My apologies, Lady Sansa.”

Tyrion spoke up again: “And my thanks for your intervention. I'm very grateful and will be far happier in Oldtown. The city is better for an immoral halfman like me. Better wine and better gambling opportunities, I'd wager.”

“Access to many books.”

Tyrion inclined his head.

“That as well. Anyway. Thanks again for influencing my Lord Father. I cannot imagine how you may have swayed his opinion. Oh, and speaking of my sire – the last time I looked he was your bridegroom, Lady Sansa. So... where is he?”

Sansa chuckled softly: “The last time I looked he was in our bedroom. I just thought I needed to have a little walk to think about things, and then, I found myself here again.”

 

Now, it was Tion Frey who uttered: “But... you're quite all right, Lady Sansa? When I saw you enter I was immediately very worried that something might have gone very wrong.”

Sansa put her hand on his arm for the briefest moment and answered: “That's nice of you, but I can assure you I'm fine. It's just all very new for me; I mean – it all happened so very fast.”

The young man looked sceptical and answered: “If there's anything I can do for you I'm very willing to help. I can imagine that it must all have been quite a shock for you. Lord Lannister is so... cold. And the incredible age gap. I guess that it's really not easy to handle this.”

 

The confidential tone disturbed Sansa again; she didn't want to talk about such private details, even less to a man she knew little about, and besides, so far things had felt much easier for her than what people were obviously expecting.

Thus, she answered in a rather reserved way: “Thank you for your sympathy, but there's absolutely no need to pity me. As I said: I just need a bit of time to process the recent developments. And now, Lor... Tyrion: You must tell me why you and Ser Bronn are still here, if you intend to leave the castle tomorrow. Your presence is just as surprising as mine, I should say.”

 

Ser Bronn laughed: “Oh, that's no wonder at all. One last night of having fun together in the capital. We can sleep in the saddle tomorrow.”

Sansa understood.

“Ah, yes. Give your wife my regards, please. I wish you and your family well.”

Ser Bronn blinked.

After a moment, he answered: “Extremes meet, my lady. I wonder if this will be true for your marriage as well.”

Of course, Tyrion couldn't help commenting: “There's a nice word for it: she and my father would be complementary.”

The former sellsword rolled his eyes and answered: “Snobbish gabbling. When it comes to a woman I don't need snobbish words. For me it's enough to know where to stick my...”

“There's a lady at this table. A bride,” Tion Frey interrupted with a growl.

 

Sansa blushed and answered: “Ah, well, it's true that this is no topic for a lady's ears, but I've lived at court for so long and have encountered so many... outspoken people here that I let these jokes go in one ear and out the other. Still, it's a good point now to return to my Lord Husband, I should say.”

At once, the men rose, bowed and wished her a good night.

 

She looked around at her guard and said to him: “I think I'll return to my chambers now.”

“As my lady wishes.”

His voice was thick with relief.

Sansa sighed. It hadn't been a good idea to come back to the feast, she could see that now, but still, she had been able to talk to Tyrion and to say goodbye to him before his departure, so the excursion had not been completely useless.

Humming to herself, she walked back.

 

The guard in front of her bedroom looked nervous.

Oh, was that a bad sign?

Sansa shrugged off that idea and opened the door.

At once, she looked into a pair of icy green-golden eyes.

No sooner had she closed the door when her bridegroom hissed: “Where. Have. You. Been. Sansa?”


	20. Chapter 20

Like so often, Tywin opened his eyes, awake at once, and noticed his pressing bladder. Since he was a cleanly man he preferred to use the privy, rather than the chamber pot; so he put on a dressing gown, stood up and walked a few strides.

Why were three candles still burning?

 

Suddenly, he remembered, pivoted around... and froze.

The bed was empty. No Sansa. No bride.

At once, he dashed to the door and opened it.

Before he could utter the first sound he noticed that there was only one guard in front of the door, not two.

“Everything all right, Lord Hand? My colleague is protecting your wife on her stroll. We assumed that this would be appropriate.”

 

Ire sparked off within Tywin. A stroll? His wife was on a nightly STROLL? This was the epitome of insolence! Anyone could call the consummation of their marriage into question now. Stupid woman. And the worst was: he couldn't admit he had been sleeping and had let her slip away, nor could he run after her. That would have looked weak.

The only thing he could do was to pretend that everything was in perfect order. And to punish Sansa when they were alone. He had to fuck her again – best right against the bedroom door, so that everyone in the Keep could hear them.

 

“Countenance!” he told himself and clasped his hands on his back.

Next, he walked to the privy as he had meant to do in the first place. To any possible eyewitness he would have looked controlled, but on the inside, he was burning bright.

 

His bride had already ridiculed him all day: by laughing in the sept like a madwoman, by eating as if she were completely relaxed...

And he? He had already been too lenient with her. Had assented to sending Tyrion to Oldtown, had respected her family colours, had been generous in the marriage contract, had even tried to be careful during the wedding night. He had used his hand in the morning while bathing to make sure he wouldn't be too impatient, and had taken her in such a way that he didn't have to see her disgust, in case she didn't like it. What was more: she wouldn't have to see him either. Instead, he had looked at the scars on her back to douse his fire, and to keep himself in check, had even used oil to make things go smoother.

Sansa had done her duty and had accepted him more or less. At least that was what he had thought. But now, she had run away from him, defying all conventions.

Damn. He had married her to eliminate the gossip and to re-establish his position. Well, and hers as well. Sansa, however, was on the best way to thwart everything.

As soon as she'd be back he'd have to teach her a lesson.

 

Still fuming, he returned, washed himself, put off his dressing gown and sat down in bed naked.

Waiting for a woman wasn't something he had ever learned. Joanna had never been prone to such fancy moods.

 

When the door handle finally moved and Sansa entered the room again Tywin was in the blackest possible mood.

All he could utter was: “Where. Have. You. Been. Sansa?”

 

He could see Sansa shrink within the moment. So she was intelligent enough to realize the temper he was in – which wasn't much, but given that they were bound to each other it was better than nothing.  
What he didn't like at all was that she fled into that empty shell he had only ever seen before he had taken her maidenhood. She was a true, cold Tully fish now.

“I couldn't fall asleep like you, my lord. Needed to get some movement.”

“And half the keep will be fuzzy at the mouth from all the gossiping about your behaviour in the morning. People will question the consummation of our marriage. And since everyone knows you're no maid any more we can't even come up with some bloody linen.”

 

Sansa's eyes were empty, and she sounded like a lifeless doll, when she uttered: “I am sorry, if I have disappointed you, my lord.”

Suddenly, Tywin remembered what she had sounded like whenever she had been around Joffrey. This had been her way to survive his blasted grandson's sadism. And now, her instincts told her she was about to get punished again... and reacted accordingly.

Fuck. Things had to be done differently. He had already lost one wife, and he didn't intend to lose a second one.

 

“Put off your clothes, Sansa,” Tywin said curtly.

His bride obeyed with wooden movements. Two or three minutes later, “Stark” naked became a completely new meaning for him. She was standing there, panting, in the middle of the room and didn't even cover herself, although under normal circumstances she would have likely still have felt ashamed. As it was, she was simply waiting for him to strike.

 

Slowly, he rose from his bed,walked over to her and pressed her against the chamber wall – not the door, but close enough.

Next, he hissed into Sansa's ear: “I'm NOT Joffrey.”

“No, you're not Joffrey, my lord.”

Her voice was still void of any emotions. Tywin couldn't allow her to wallow in her misery. What was more, they needed to be heard outside. So he tried to remember what he had done to her on that first fateful night, before she had come – only he couldn't recollect everything. He'd have to fill in the slots in his memory himself.

 

Without further ado, Tywin lowered his head, closed his lips around a nipple and started to suck.

“AH!”

The sound was a mix of confusion and shock – but there was also a promising undertone. With all the purposefulness he could muster he licked and nibbled and sucked.

“What...?What...? AH!”

 

Something was wrong about this, Tywin realized: the more he tasted of her, the hungrier he became for more. Dangerous.

Still, he switched from one nipple to the next, knowing he had already shaken her from her dark reverie. Sansa looked at him with such bafflement that a more jovial man than him might have actually laughed. He himself only rolled the nipple he had licked first between his fingers and continued to work the other one with his mouth.

“T..y...win!”

Sansa calling him by his first name brought his cock back to life, and he rubbed it against her folds. He hadn't taken a woman twice a day for decades and hadn't even contemplated whether he was still capable of such vitality.

If his bride was sore from their first coupling she either didn't care or didn't notice. Her knees gave way, and together, they slipped down the wall. The fact that she didn't balk, didn't try to escape him, was a very good sign.

His fingers moved between her labia, and to his eternal surprise, she was already wet for him. In response, his cock twitched and shed a single whitish tear. But for now, it was more important to make Sansa moan, so that they'd be heard outside. He wanted the world to know that he, the Lion of Lannister, had taken possession of her as his wife. That he had marked her.

 

Memories Tywin had blocked for ages re-emerged to the surface of his mind: of what had to be done to make a woman wail in lustful agony.

His finger entered Sansa, and at the same time, he pressed his mouth onto hers. When she gasped, he used the opportunity to slither with his tongue between her lips. For a moment, he wondered if it wouldn't all be too much for his still inexperienced bride – but then, her arms were suddenly around his neck... and her own tongue started to rub shyly against his.

He uttered a surprised grunt, and further down, his cock was weeping again. Well, he had never been one who had not grasped what was offered him, but first, he meant to tease Sansa even more. His finger and tongue started to fuck her in the same rhythm, only in different places of her body. And what a body it was.

 

His wife started to lose control, arched into him, gasped into his mouth... only she was still far too quiet. So he decided he couldn't allow her to actually come yet and withdrew.

“Tywin!” she protested quietly, her eyes hazy.

He couldn't remember when he had last seen something so beautiful.

His hands parted her legs, draped them over his shoulders...

“My lord, what...?”

… and he dipped his head and breathed in.

Gods. That scent. He had to control himself not to come, and his cock hurt.

Tywin gazed up at Sansa.

She looked back at him like a hare would at a snake.

 

Ever so slowly, he kissed the inside of her thighs, next, the tender skin between her thighs and her nether lips, always keeping his eyes on her. Sansa was watching with rapt attention, so he decided to give her some more. He parted her labia, found that swollen spot where she was most sensitive – and flicked his tongue against it.

Sansa mewled.

Good.

 

Tywin's mood was definitely on the rise again.

Nevertheless, he was guarded when he continued to caress her there. He tried out various movements. Flicking. Circling. Stroking. Sucking. Even nibbling.

Meanwhile, he had taken himself in his hand, because he couldn't help it any longer.

Sansa was sobbing by now.

“My lord... please!”

Tywin thought it was wonderful to have her so close to sweet release. The way she was bucking into him was revealing that it could be over any moment, if he wasn't careful. That Sansa could react to him with such passion, even if she wasn't drugged, could only be counted as a miracle. And Tywin meant to drain the cup to the dregs.

Knowing well that they had already entertained whoever might be present in the Tower of the Hand, he sat up again.

“Tywin! Nonononononopleaaase!”

That was it. The last sign he had needed. Contentedly, he knelt between her legs and thrust into her with all the hunger of a starving lion.

“Ooooooooh!”

 

Moments later, Sansa was beyond uttering coherent words – and so was he. Tears were streaming down his bride's face, and Tywin couldn't believe what he was seeing.

And then, her eyeballs rolled up, and she erupted against him with a primal power that told him she really had to have some wild northern blood within her. Her pulsations were the last straw as well; he threw back his head and roared and pumped and pumped until Sansa was unconscious and he had nothing more to give. Finally, he was engulfed by the shadows as well.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A certain lion is on for a fluff shock this time. :-)

Sansa awoke, because she was feeling cold – partly at least. Her front was warm enough, but at the sides and on her back she felt freezing. So she opened her eyes, the lids still heavy.

Her mind registered then that she was lying on the floor, and her chest and stomach and knees were warm, because her skin was pressed against another body. Moreover, Sansa was sore in her private parts, and her head hurt as well.

“What am I doing here on the floor?” she asked herself for a short moment, but then she remembered what had happened – and that her body was flush against Lord Tywin. Her... her husband. Her... lover now.

 

Gods, what had they done!? The intensity of it all, the primal wildness. They had even both passed out on the ground right away after their coupling, so drained had they been.

Oh. Oh my.

They were still naked.

What should she think of all this? It had been outrageous and wanton, frightening – and yet beautiful. There had been so much need, but also embarrassment, joy... and completion. Sweet mother, the culmination at the end! Never in her life had she known so much bliss.

And nobody had prepared her for this. Nobody. Not her septa, not her parents. They had only ever sold her the concept of a temperate duty, and just in an abstract way. What was worse, Joffrey and Cersei had frightened her about the act. So how was it possible that her wedding night with Lord Tywin had brought about so much glory? Tywin – a man she hadn't truly chosen, despite the objects he had presented to her to pick from, a man she feared and didn't love. Just how intense would it all have been, if she had been married to a real Florian? Or did it actually need someone who was NOT a Florian to lead her down this road?

 

Suddenly, Sansa became angry, because of the disinformation she had been subjected to in the past. If the consummation of their marriage could make her feel so good – why on earth had her parents kept her so unknowing?

In the past, Sansa had only ever wanted to be a true lady and had wanted to please everyone. As a consequence she had never questioned other people's efforts to shield her from harm, other than her sister Arya. It had boiled down to the fact that her naivety had only brought her sorrow and had harmed her family, especially her father. This was what she had come to understand, now that she was older.

Over the years, she had often said to herself: “If only I had known...” – and now was another one of these moments. She needed to learn as much as possible, and quickly so, if she wanted to be a good wife for Tywin. And if she wanted to survive being Tywin's wife. Lust and passion would be one part of this project now.

Somehow, she started to feel that her husband wasn't interested in a quiet, submissive, mousy wife. Two years earlier she wouldn't have been able to come to this conclusion, because she wouldn't have been mature enough, but now she did.

Tywin's first beloved spouse had been a Lannister like himself, which pointed towards a strong female character didn't it? Uuuh, come to think of it... had Tywin done the same things to her in their wedding night?

 

Sansa flushed madly and rose. Her headache caused her to gyrate, and she quickly made for the bed. Her bridegroom awoke now as well.

He rubbed his scalp for a moment, but got up quickly enough and came over to the bed.

Next, he spoke to her: “By the look of it, it's well past the hour of the wolf. I have to get up to start the day. There's always work for the Hand to do.”

That surprised Sansa: there wasn't even a faint glimmer of the new morning to be seen.

In light of what she had been thinking about before, she looked at him, at his body (well, it wasn't too difficult, because he was just a lighter shadow in the darkness), and replied: “I can imagine that you usually have to rise at an early our – but this is our wedding night. Nobody will expect you to get up THAT early, and I feel cold after all the time on the floor and could need a bit of extra warmth. Won't you stay with me a little longer?”

 

Lord Tywin looked at her as if Sansa had suddenly grown two more heads. There was a long, heavy silence, and for a moment, Sansa feared he might get angry with her.

Then, there was a little twitch around his mouth; at least Sansa thought that that was what she saw in the darkness.

The next moment, their blanket was lifted, and Tywin slipped into the place next to her.

“What do you need?” he asked in his clipped way.

Sansa felt embarrassed and self-conscious. Her heartbeat was accelerating.

“My back is cold. May I... lean up against you?”

“Come. If that's what you need.”

 

Sansa told herself not to be a chicken, only this situation was so incredibly intimate, and on a completely different level, in comparison to their previous passion.

Anyway. After a few seconds, she snuggled closer to the man she had married and gingerly leaned against him. She could feel his curly chest hair against her skin, and further down, his flaccid manhood touched her buttocks – alongside with more curly hair.

What an awkward situation.

“Better?” Lord Tywin asked behind her, and there was a tiny edge of insecurity in his voice.

“I... yes. Yes. Better. Wait.”

Something had just occurred to Sansa.

Slowly, she grabbed behind her, took Tywin's right hand and wrapped it around her middle. Thus, it felt like an embrace.

“That's it,” she finally whispered.

After another long silence, Lord Tywin stated flatly: “You're a peculiar one.”

Not exactly a sweet compliment, but then again, her husband wasn't capable of flattery at all to begin with. What counted was that he didn't pull back his hand, nor did he roll away from her. Slowly, Sansa started to feel warmer and became drowsy again.

“Thank you,” she murmured before she fell asleep once more.


	22. Chapter 22

About half an hour later, Tywin got up silently, so as not to wake his bride. He still couldn't quite grasp what had happened. The passionate explosion was one thing, but lust was something that could happen. What had been really weird was that Sansa had wanted more body contact – with him of all men. If he was honest, her warm, relaxed body against his and her female scent were a more than acceptable sensation for once. From the present angle, his wife had behaved as if she were... fond of him.

 

But that was impossible. They had married because of an accident between the sheets. There was no love between their families and no bond between the two of them. Technically speaking, he could be her grandfather, considering their age gap; and connected to it were the differences with reference to experience and interests. They basically lived in different worlds.

Joanna had been a confident, independent, strong woman who had loved him for his absolute determination and his business sense. What on earth could he possibly offer to introvert, quiet, polite Sansa, apart from relative physical and economical safety? Or was this a crucial point for her, after her father's execution and her bleak time as a ward and an isolated widow?

Lord Tywin scratched his sideburns. He'd have to find out in the course of time. As long as she didn't try to weaken him like his father had been weakened by his paramour he'd find ways to arrange himself with the new situation.

 

As little as Tywin was accustomed to embracing a woman, as little was he used any more to tiptoeing through his bedroom in order to not wake up his wife. Quickly, he had a wash and put on some breeches, a tunic and a doublet. Shaving would have to happen in his solar from now on, he concluded. For now, he'd have to live with a stubble, though he hated it.

With sure strides as always he made for his study, greeted by some servants who were already up and about. If they were astonished that he had already risen after his wedding night they didn't show it openly – they were trained too well for that.

Tywin ordered a breakfast and thought of the basket with snacks next to the bed. He and Sansa had not used it. No wonder then, that after their wild coupling he was uncharacteristically hungry now.

 

In his solar, he sifted through the parchments on the desk and started reading and taking notes while munching on a slice of fresh, warm bread with ham and slices of a cooked egg. To his surprise, he found that he was in a rather good mood, and he made swift progress.

Through his window, he saw the trek with Tyrion and Ser Bronn file out of the snow-capped Red Keep. One more item that was off his list. Fine.

 

Around mid-morning, Tywin had still not heard anything from Sansa, but he didn't ponder this in detail. He didn't expect to have her around, and he had to lead a meeting of the Small Council anyway, so he was actually even contented that he wasn't distracted.

During the meeting he felt the other people's intense looks, but he ignored them. They had to work effectively, HE had to work effectively, so he behaved accordingly. It was what he knew best, and he felt in his element.

 

After three hours, Tywin could return to his solar to read the new messages that had likely arrived via raven. In the meantime, his personal servant had already arrived with a heap of parchments that had been delivered by messengers.

Suddenly, there was a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

It was his servant again. The man looked worried.

“Already back from the rookery?” Tywin asked, although he could see exactly that there were no letters in the servant's hands.

“Lord Hand, on my way there I passed your bedroom and... Grand Maester Pycelle is in it at the moment. Your Lady Wife has fallen ill as it seems, and the maester sent me to inform you. He said the Lady Sansa has asked for you.”

 

From one moment to the next, Lord Tywin's mind was strangely empty. He rose from behind his desk.

“I see.”

He waved the servant away and walked over to his private wing. In front of the bedroom door he met Maester Pycelle, who was just emerging from the chamber.

“Lord Hand,” the old man said gravely, “ I didn't think we'd meet again so soon after the gathering of the Small Council, but here we are.”

“What's wrong with my wife?”

“I fear you won't like the news: she's caught the winter fever.”

 

Different overlapping images erupted in Tywin's mind: Sansa on the cold ground with him after the consummation of their marriage. Dead Joanna with waxy features in his arms. The cold, mildewy crypt with Joffrey's tomb.

“How bad is it, Grand Maester Pycelle?”

A sigh.

“She's slowly losing her conscience, but she has mentioned she'd like to see you. From now on, Lady Sansa needs cold, wet rags around her calves and on her brow, and I've given her a potion that should alleviate the symptoms as well. I'll be back in a few hours, unless there is a change for the worse, Lord Hand.”

Tywin's voice was cold as always when he retorted ominously: “You haven't shown much competence over the last years, Grand Maester. If I were you I'd make sure the Lady Sansa survives – for my own sake.”  
Pycelle swallowed.

Vague threats were sometimes the most effective ones, Tywin had learned a long time ago.

“Lord Lannister, it goes without saying that I'll do anything to make sure that your wife will survive.”

The old Lion just looked back at the healer, and the coward scuttled back to the healing quarters, all the while mumbling about some research he had to do with regard to the medical treatment.

 

Tywin breathed in out deeply.

Then, he opened the bedroom door.


	23. Chapter 23

At once, his eyes fell on the bed. Sansa was lying there, very still, except for her breathing. Her facial complexion was an unhealthy mix of a cheesy colour and red blotches; the brow was sweaty. The fever had got her into its clutches all too fast.

 

There was also a nurse in the room; she curtsied hurriedly as soon as he became visible.

“She's fallen asleep, my lord,” the woman whispered.

Lord Lannister waved his hand, and the woman scuttled out of the room.

 

Tywin sneaked closer, ever the predator.

Sansa's mouth was slightly open, and she didn't react right away.

Perhaps it was better to leave again at once. Hm, but he wanted at least to have a closer look at her. You never knew, if thoroughness didn't pay off in a situation.

When he sat down Sansa's eyes opened a little.

“Tywin.”

It was everything she said, and her voice sounded like breaking parchment. Apart from that, it was still so weird to be addressed thus, by his first name.

 

Suddenly, there was a motion. To his complete surprise, Sansa took his hand, put it under her feverish cheek and clutched it as if it were a cushion she wanted to hold in place.

Confused, he attempted to ask what on earth she was thinking – but the same instant, he realized she had fallen asleep again. Now, he didn't know what to do next. After all, it was impossible to stay in this position.

“My hand isn't a pillow,” he thought. “What a strange young woman.”

Carefully, he tried to withdraw his fingers, but that earned him a petite protest sound, and Sansa clutched him even more.

“Damn, I've got to rule wintry, wight-infested Westeros. I've got no time for this rubbish,” he told himself and pulled more forcefully.

 

Sansa whined a little when his hand was gone.

“Tywin?” she mumbled.

“Tywin?”

Unnerved, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Why on earth did she call for him, of all people? She should be asking for her bratty little sister's presence, not for his.

“Sansa, I'm here. Shall I bring you Arya?”

The thought of the unnerving Stark girl in his private chambers made him re-evaluate the offer at once, but Sansa didn't seem to be interested anyway.

“Tywin. Please.”

The Old Lion felt a weird tug deep inside. In his core.

His eyes darted to her feverish brow where the nurse had left a wet cloth. Surely, it was warm by now. With quick fingers he snatched it, soaked it in a nearby bowl with cold water and put it back. In the process, he stooped over his bride... and suddenly, there were weak, but determined arms around his neck, and he was pulled half on top of Sansa.

He could have freed himself easily, but he had not foreseen the move and allowed it for a moment.

Sansa opened her eyes; they were glassy.

She whispered: “The... drawer. Kiss. Please.”

Tywin wrinkled his brow and didn't understand. Well, not the first part at least. With regard to the second one...

He bowed deeper and gave Sansa a quick peck on her cheek, feeling awkward all the while. Caresses had never been his strength.

 

Next, Tywin quickly re-focussed on his wife's mentioning of “the drawer”. What could she have meant?

He rose and opened her bedside table, but only found a scarf, a pair of gloves, some hairpins, a brush and a little sewing basket inside it. Nothing noteworthy. 

He tipped with his index finger against his lips, deep in thought.

Next, he walked over to Sansa's dressing table, which had found a new place in his – now their – bedroom after the marriage. Concentrated like the leader of the pride of lions that he was, he sifted through the contents of its three drawers. More hairpins, two golden necklaces he had never seen Sansa wear (presents from Joffrey?), some richly-embroidered handherchiefs, several ribbons and a pearl string for the hair, two fans...

In short: normal women's equipment and inconspicuous by all means.

So what on earth had Sansa been talking about? It was easy to dismiss her words as feverish blabbering, but Tywin couldn't believe this. Sansa had been too intent to mention “the drawer”.

 

Suddenly, he breathed in.

Had she...?

With only a few strides Tywin was on the other side of the bed. His own side. It was likelier that a spy would look into Sansa's drawers than his own ones, in case she possessed some volatile piece of information, or a potentially dangerous object. If his young bride was as clever as he was slowly coming to see her...

 

Lord Lannister fumbled on his own bedside table and opened it.

And there it was. A letter, which had already been opened.

The envelope said: “To Lady Sansa”.

It was written in an unknown spidery kind of handwriting.

And underneath he could read in what he recognized as Sansa's handwriting: “The best lie is always seasoned with a grain of truth.”

Against his will, Tywin's heart was starting to beat faster. Of course, he would read the letter – but he also knew he wouldn't like the contents of it. Not at all.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I've got two short chapters for you today. That was the good news. Unfortunately, I won't be updating the story for a while, but it will go on, I promise! And sorry for the next cliffhanger... *blush*

** _Dear Lady Sansa,_ **

_rumour has it that you are about to marry Lord Lannister. Are you sure you want to go though with this marriage? But perhaps you don't know all the details about your fiancé. Let me enlighten you so that you don't stumble into a marriage that will only bring you grief._

_There is something you should be aware of with regard to your brother's and your mother's death. When your brother had that lethal riding accident Lord Lannister had long been plotting his demise. Thus, it has to be believed that he had his fingers in this affair. You may try to tell yourself that Lord Lannister would not do such a twisted thing, but think of the following: who gained most (and at a low cost) by your brother's death? You should also remember what the Lord Hand has already proven to be capable of in his blood-stained past._

_And with regard to your mother – the official version about her death is that, grief-stricken as she was after her son's death, she plunged herself into the churning waters at Riverrun. While it is true that she drowned on the day nobody has seen her commit suicide, and you can assume that someone, some traitor, may well have... lent her a hand, to put it mildly. You could argue that Riverrun was her home, but she was still an important lady of the north, the Lady of Winterfell, so she could still have posed a threat in the Game of Thrones. And you know that Lord Lannister doesn't take any risks._

_However, Lord Tywin has got some more negative traits you should take into consideration, Lady Sansa. You know that he has been a widower for many yours, for decades. He did love his first wife madly, and you could only ever expect to live in her shadow. Lord Lannister has never remarried, as you well know – and it has nothing to do with him not finding a theoretically suitable woman in the past. The death of his first wife left him a wreck of a human; what little compassion he may have had died that day alongside with her, and he was never able to be a father again, let alone a loving one. Do you want to have him as an incapable, cold-hearted father for your own children?_

_And maybe I should not talk about the marriage bed to a refined, sensitive woman like you; yet, you should know the sad truth about Lord Lannister considering him as a... man of certain tastes, for it is one of the worst-kept secrets amongst the more lewd and cunning players in the Game of Thrones. So here we go, and I beg your apologies for telling you about the harsh truth: after his wife's demise he never had another healthy relationship with a woman again. The trauma of being a widower caused him to turn to males, and in the worst possible way – he forced himself on prisoners he had made in the course of his politics... and on corpses after a battle._

_I feel deeply ashamed of upsetting a gentle heart like yours, Lady Sansa, but I could not remain quiet in the face of the events looming ahead. I could not bear it if I knew you were degraded by a man like him. Hopefully, you will understand my letter in this light, and I have faith that you will reconsider a union that would surely break your heart and that would condemn you to long-term misery._

_Take care, Lady Sansa_

_A person who only wishes you well_


	25. Chapter 25

Tywin wasn't one to pale easily, but on reading the letter he did – from shock and disgust and white-hot burning fury as well. He wanted to tear the venomous papers in his trembling hands into tiny little shreds. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the fact that he'd need the letter to find out the bastard who had written it.

 

It took him a while until he was sure he wouldn't strangle an innocent person.  
He looked at feverish Sansa in bed, and from her back to the letter. Damn, he needed to get a grip on himself.  
Hmmm... the Old Lion didn't know the handwriting, and he knew all the handwritings from the people in the Small Council and from many more people. True enough, it could have been forged.  
Carefully, he folded the message and put it into a pocket in his waistcoat.  
Next, he left the bedroom and the waiting nurse returned to Sansa's side.

 

Back in his solar he ordered his servant Croylus Lannet from Lannisport, a lowly relative from the Rock who had accompanied him to the capital, to contact him. The man was intelligent and his private investigator from time to time. Croylus would have to find out who this spidery handwriting belonged to.

 

The unpleasant point was that Tywin had an abstract suspicion. In the letter, there was this passage that mentioned that he had been plotting Robb Stark's death. This wasn't common knowledge, so quite a few people could be excluded from his list.

 

After his servant had left him with all the necessary instructions the Old Lion rubbed his forehead where a headache was building slowly. His thoughts turned to some other aspects of the case now.

 

When had Sansa received the letter?

It could only have been directly before the wedding ceremony.

Did this explain her weird behaviour in the sept and afterwards?

When HAD she actually read the letter – and how had she reacted to it?

Various things were noteworthy: Sansa did not reject him physically, neither with regard to the marriage bed nor otherwise. Quite the contrary, she had actively sought body contact. So it was clear that she didn't believe in the statements about his alleged sexual deviance. That was good.

She had entrusted him with the letter, had wanted him to know and to take measures, which meant that she tried to be loyal. That was good as well.

 

“The best lie is always seasoned with a grain of truth.”

That was what Sansa had written on the envelope. So Tywin could only conclude that she had assessed the intimate revelations as lies.

What, however, had she considered to be the “grain of truth” then?

Little as he liked it, Tywin knew he would have to wait for at least a partial recovery until he would get an answer to his musings from her.

 

What Lord Lannister didn't take into account, however, was that a partial recovery would be necessary for him as well. Only hours later, he was burning with a fever like Sansa. He had got infected – he, the regent and the king's Hand. For two days, life at court stood still, and everybody waited with bated breath whether the Old Lion and his young bride would recover... or not.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in town! Finding my way back into fandom bit by bit. :-)

When Tywin opened his eyes and could grasp a first clear thought again Kevan was sitting at his side and leaning forward.

“Feeling better, brother?”

“What...? You're here...?” Tywin gasped, turned his head and saw Sansa next to him, still unconscious and with a grey complexion.

 

“Yes, I'm here, Ty,” Kevan answered in a grave voice. “I'm sorry for intruding, but it was necessary. Your fierce little goodsister and me, we were worried about the medical treatment and wanted to keep an eye on you.”

“What? That scrawny brat was in here? In that case, I can be happy I'm still alive!” Tywin groused.

A hint of a smile started to play around his younger brother's lips.

“You must be better indeed, if you can already complain about such a thing. Suffice to say that she was only here in the king's presence.”

Tywin narrowed his eyes and rubbed his face.

“The child was here as well? Has my private bedchamber turned into a rookery?”

Kevan leaned back.

“You're not false here, because we all watched Pycelle like ravens. Yesterday, your wife got her moon blood. Most unfortunate, because it has weakened her further. So the maester gave up hope.”

 

“What!?” Tywin exclaimed and sat up so fast that he felt dizzy.

Kevan hurried on to continue his report: “Tommen was present at that moment. The boy showed real guts then – I've never seen him like that before. He declared I should be his Hand and Regent until your recovery... and he ordered me to fire Pycelle and to get the new maester who treats the soldiers in the City Guard, as well as the most popular local healing woman specialized on female afflictions.”

“Get to the point!” Tywin spat. “How's Sansa?”

“She's still alive. Though her heart stopped twice, but Maester Gorfin brought her back both times with some wild pumping on her ribcage, because he simply refused to give her up. One of her ribs broke in the process, but the maester claims it was the only chance to save her. He's been conferring with the healer, and the medical treatment seems to start to work at long last. Sansa is still very weak, but there's hope.”

 

Tywin closed his eyes and felt as if he were in a maelstrom. Images of dead Joanna wafted through his still feverish mind, and all he managed to think was that he couldn't endure it to lose a second wife, even if he had only had her for such a short time like Sansa.

He coughed and said: “I must praise Tommen for his decisions. Wouldn't have thought he had it in him. Tell him the good man shows in a crisis.”

Afterwards, Tywin's thoughts turned foggy again, and he drifted off to sleep once more.

 

He awoke a second time when a delicate hand took his own one. At once, he looked sideways.

Sansa's eyes had opened as well, though they were still glassy. She gaped at him as if she were shocked to find him in her bed. Well, they had fallen ill too soon after their wedding, so it was hardly a surprise that she had forgotten for a moment that they were married.

Tywin reminded her by asking: “How are you, wife?”

Sansa's lips mouthed the word “wife” in puzzlement, but after a few seconds, an air of remembrance washed over her face. Her body stiffened for an instant, but the next moment, she started to smile... only to wrinkle her nose in distaste after a heartbeat.

“I'm smelly. I smell of illness,” she croaked.

 

Tywin arched an eyebrow.

“You were on the verge of meeting the Stranger – and the first thing you come up with on regaining consciousness is how you smell?”

Sansa indicated a shrug with a weak movement.

“If you don't care about my stench – may I have a kiss from my husband?”

Had Tywin been surprised before he was dumbfounded now. Still, her request had been straightforward and nothing spoke against it. Thus, he rolled over and put his mouth onto hers for a heartbeat.

Sansa smiled and murmured: “We both need a bath, to be honest. Was I really so ill?”

“As good as dead. You owe your life to a young, stubborn maester and to a healer from town. The two will be duly awarded for saving your life. A Lannister always pays his debts.”

“Hmhm...”

Sansa's voice was affirmative, but she was dozing off again. Tywin had to admit that this was a sound strategy for a quick recovery and allowed himself to fall asleep again as well.


	27. Chapter 27

Sansa felt much better the next time she regained consciousness. Her head still felt too small for her brain and her joints continued to hurt; there was also some ongoing dizziness. Yet, she felt less miserable than she had done before.

Tywin was asleep next to her – recovering like her. Sansa only grasped now that he had been ill as well. His complexion was cheesy, in comparison to the way she knew him, but she guessed it was better than her own one.

To her surprise, there was an unknown elderly woman in her room, who was wearing grey, simple woollen clothes; her hair was wound into a tight bun.

Lacking any outward signs of alarm, she slid to Sansa's side and whispered: “Lady Lannister, how wonderful to see you recover! My name is Nassya Greenly, a healer from the town. I've been tasked with treating you.”

 

Sansa wrinkled her brow. On instinct, she looked for any possible hidden dangers.

“Glad to meet you,” she chirped, personal doubts notwithstanding. “But... where's Maester Pycelle?” 

The healer shifted from one foot to the other.

“He has been... replaced with Maester Gorfin, from the City Guard. And I'm here to help you with any possible... female health aspects, because it's my special point of interest.”

“Oh. I see.”

In truth, Sansa didn't understand a thing. Why had Pycelle been removed from office? Who had fired him – and found a competent replacement, now that her husband was temporarily disabled as well?

Tywin's words about a young maester who had saved her life were coming back to her now, which meant that at least parts of the story had to be true.

 

Sansa fought to sit up, and the healer helped her. The woman was short, but very strong, which was astonishing, given her slender appearance and an age beyond the prime of youth.

“Why do I need a healer for “female health aspects”, as you put it?” Sansa demanded to know.

Nassya Greenly smiled and chuckled.

“Your mind is recovering fast, I must say. Wonderful. Only yesterday morning, nobody would have bet a single copper on your survival, Lady Lannister, and here you are and your mind is already up to scratch again. Well, let me explain my presence. Your moon blood has started, on top of the fever, and it has weakened you further over the last days. Besides, with my medication I'm striving to preserve your ability to bear children. The fever was bad, and there should be no secondary damage, if you get my meaning. I've done my best, but there's no guarantee.”

 

Sansa's hand flew to her mouth and her heart dropped into her metaphorical boots. She hadn't talked to Tywin about this topic, but she had assumed he'd want or at least accept children with her. How would he react, if it turned out she was barren? A political tactician like him might banish her from his side and the relative safety he was offering Sansa as her husband. What was worse, she wanted babies herself! Sweet Mother, a life without children... no, this couldn't happen!

 

The next moment, Sansa squared her shoulders, like she had always done at court.

“Thank you for informing me about my physical situation and about being honest with me,” she uttered.

As a lady, she had to say this.

The healer inclined her head.

Then, Sansa begged: “Could you leave me alone for a while, please, or is there anything you need to do considering my treatment?”

Nassya Greenly shook her head and answered: “You're awake and your mind is focussed, so you should be able to do without me or the maester for a while. Just don't strain yourself.”

 

With soft steps the woman left the room.

No sooner had the door closed when Sansa spoke: “You can stop pretending you're asleep, you know?”

Her husband's eyes snapped open.

“You're too ingratiating with a common healer, wife.”

“This is called “civility”, Tywin. From what I've learned I partly owe her my recovery. But let's not argue about this point – I don't have the energy for a quarrel yet. Did you find my letter?”

There was a snort on the other side of the bed that said: “Do you take me for a simpleton?”

Aloud, her husband asked: “When did you receive the letter?”

Sansa shrugged.

“It was delivered by a nondescript servant before the wedding, but I was so excited about the ceremony that I forgot the letter until afterwards, and I can't remember the servant's face either. That irks me.”

“I take it you don't know who the addresser is.”

“You're right. Now you've got to tell me which part of those lines are right.”

 

Tywin coughed.

When he had caught his voice again he ventured forth: “You don't believe the things about my sexual preferences.”

Sansa blushed, and she feared it didn't look good with her still feverish appearance, but her voice was firm when she answered: “You clearly enjoyed that part of our wedding night most when I was... most aroused as well. Very much alive, that is. How could I believe the accusations in the letter then? What I deem credible is that I cannot replace your first wife. I can only strive to gain a place of my own. What I cannot assess is your involvement in my brother's and my mother's death.”

 

Lord Lannister breathed in and out. He arched an eyebrow and gazed at her.

“You know that I was at war with your brother. It included the mutual wish to kill each other. This is what war is about.”

Sansa remained silent. She had known this, but that didn't prevent her heart from throbbing in grief for Robb.

Tywin went on: “To be honest – there had been plans to murder your brother. To end the war conveniently. Conveniently for the Lannisters, of course. This course of action would have also saved many lives. The point, however, is that these plans never came to fruition. Robb Stark had the decency to die in an accident, which was bad luck for those who had wanted to carry out the murder, because they lost certain opportunities.

Your mother... I had planned to wed her to Addam Marbrand. Or even to Tyrion. It would have been a useful union. Why murder someone who could have given me access to the Riverlands? To the North? I won't deny the possibility that your mother may – or may not – have been murdered, but I don't have her blood on my hands.”

 

Her husband's line of argumentation appeared to be sound, Sansa had to admit. At second sight, however, there was a gap in his explanations.

“Tywin, if your plot for murdering Robb was never carried out it means that only very few people were informed about it – and only one of them can have written the letter.”

Her husband didn't answer with words; he simply looked at her, and she detected appreciation in his green eyes.

“Tywin, who wanted to murder Robb? Who knew about all of this?”

“About your first question: I won't say. About the second one: in the Red Keep you never know.”

 

Sansa pressed her lips together.

This wasn't satisfying. Not at all. And her head was pounding. She'd need to recover some more before she could intrude into this area again.

One of her hands balled into a fist, and she declared: “I'll try to stand up now. Hopefully, my legs will be strong enough to carry me, so I can see to some basic needs. One of them is to have a wash.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no smut, no fluff, not even plot. Just some psychological musings. I thought Sansa would need to have such an introspective moment in the story. I hope you're not too disappointed.

Their recovering proceeded, and Maester Gorfin turned out to be a taciturn, even grumpy bull of a man, who was balding at a young age. His fingers looked like sausages, but they were apt in their job nevertheless. Unlike former Grand Maester Pycelle he was economic in his gestures and his words – and that was infinitely more acceptable.

 

Sansa slept a lot, and so did her husband. Arya visited her a few times (in the antechamber, not in the bedroom any more, now that Tywin was awake). While her sister was overjoyed that Sansa was getting better, their relationship remained a strained one, and the wedding had done nothing to improve it.

 

Ever since their discussion about the letter Sansa and Tywin were polite enough around each other... but there was a rift between them. They talked when it was necessary, but for once, there were no exchanges of and explicit demands for tenderness. Due to their illness and Sansa's moon blood Tywin didn't think of bedding her either. In fact, he looked and behaved a lot again like he had done before she had ended up in his arms for the first time on that fateful night that had sparked off all the recent developments.

Sansa was much more reserved as well. In a way, she wasn't even overly sad about it. She thought it was not the worst thing to happen. For nigh on two weeks, they had been driven by urgent necessities; in their wake they had ended up as husband and wife, and they had barely had a moment to process all of this. It was only natural they'd experience a temporary backlash. 

 

Now, they needed some time to come to terms with the results of their personal earthquake. Sansa asked herself, if Tywin was sorry for having married her. After all, he had been a widower for so long, likely because he had never thought he could find a woman as worthy as his first wife again. Things had to be difficult for him, too, even if he'd never ever admit it, least of all to himself.

Sansa also asked herself what she felt for Lord Lannister – and the answer was far more difficult to find and also more complex and blurred than she would have liked it to be. What she had to admit was some sort of physical attraction. Desire – of all things! Who would have ever thought. One didn't simply desire a man like Tywin Lannister, and even less so a gentle, young woman like her.

Sansa knew that people couldn't picture them together intimately to begin with, and the notion of both of them enjoying the process was beyond their scope. Yet, in reality those aspects of their relationship had been the easiest ones.

Tywin had shown her what passion was, had given in to it like she had, and in those moments, it had not mattered who they were, in which personal situation, how different they were, or whether their coupling had any tactical value (which it did have). Sansa only had to remember Tywin's mouth between her legs, or how his member had felt inside of her, and her body started to pulsate again.

So... yes, there was mutual desire, incredible as it was. Sansa knew she had felt nothing but dread and fear for this man before he had taken her maidenhood, and she could only scratch herself in wonder, because she couldn't understand why she was reacting so differently to him now. Was it simply because he was her first lover?

Apart from that, Sansa also assumed that her husband was having similar problems about their outbursts of intimacy – that he had only seen her as a naïve child and as a pawn for someone else before, and that his sudden lust for her was a mystery as well.

 

Moreover, Sansa probed her old romantic ideals and asked herself, if she loved Tywin Lannister, or if she could learn to do that like her mother had managed to do it with her own father. Here, things got even murkier. She was pretty sure she didn't love her husband. After all, she could still see that he had done many bad things... and that he would be guilty of more, had he had the chances. Unlike men she had admired in the past she didn't put him on a pedestal and found him more than elevated enough the way he already was.

Neither did she overlook the fact that he was a miserable father. Cersei, Jamie, Tyrion... no, while Tywin had excelled as a politician he had failed as a family man. What now if he and Sansa had children together? Would he blast it all to pieces again? Or could an old lion learn a new trick?

Sansa sighed. Why did it all have to be so complicated?

If she was honest, she wanted to touch her husband and wanted him to feel the same need to touch her – not just in bed, but in general. There was something between them... it wasn't love, not yet at least, but it wasn't passion either. In some rare moments, they had been... partners; Sansa knew no other word for it. There HAD been some sort of a connection.

 

But then, Tywin had blown this fragile state to pieces again by denying her an answer to an important question. It was bad enough that their families had been at each other's throats, and that he had been one of the conductors. Thus, it should have been his aim to co-operate with her to reach an improvement; but no, by refusing to share his knowledge with her he had shown his distrust and had also disturbed the process of establishing a more peaceful coexistence.

Sansa sighed. This was so like the Lord Lannister she had always known. Knowledge on the one hand and distrust on the other had ensured his survival for decades.

It was probably an advantage that he had not outright forbidden her to try to come to her own conclusions, or to investigate a little into the affair herself.

Did he think her capable of solving the riddle about the letter and the murder plans herself? Was it even some sort of test for her? With this man you never knew.

Sansa sighed again.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone is being an ass again. Guess who.

Tywin was as cross as two sticks. Nothing worked the way he would have liked it to happen. Ever since his discussion with Sansa she was as cold as a Tully trout.

In the morning, he had participated in his first meeting of the Small Council since he had fallen ill. Tommen had been there as well – and his grandson had been in poor spirits ever since Tywin had ordered to remove the cat from the room that the boy had brought along. The meeting itself had been long and tedious, to say the least. Well, it was no wonder: after days without him they needed to catch up with many developments.

 

Winter was taking its toll on the population, and the decrease of food lead to much crime and violence.

Months ago, Tywin had decided that instead of executions or even incarcerations the culprits from all over the country were to be sent to the Wall, into the war against the undead monsters from the far north. Small wonder that the people hated his policy, but there simply wasn't enough food, so many and more would die anyway while the Black Brothers needed everyone they could get, and by doing the realm a last service the criminals' demises were at least not for naught.

Still, the peoples' anger was bubbling close to the surface, and the City Guard had had a few nasty skirmishes with some demonstrators. Those troublemakers had to be sent to the Wall, too, and quickly so. Only one tormentor would have to be flogged to death publicly to make an example.

 

Now, after the council meeting, Tywin had eaten a light lunch and he was sitting at the desk in his solar. Unread scrolls, letters, parchments and messages were piling up even higher than usual – which was no wonder after his temporary blackout due to the fever.

And this was not all.

Two minutes ago, his servant Croylus Lannet had reported back to him about the investigations with regard to the mystery letter. Tywin hadn't liked the news one whit and had updated his orders.

 

The Lion of Lannister pinched the bridge of his nose. His shoulder muscles were taut, and if he didn't manage to relax any time soon he'd start to suffer from a headache, that much was sure.

WHAM!

Tywin's hand had balled into a fist within the fraction of a heartbeat and had crashed wildly onto the desk pad.

WHAM!

It was good that the desk of the Hand was such a massive wooden construction.

 

There was a knock on the door.

“What!?” Tywin spat.

With a little squeak the door opened and Sansa entered. She was moving slowly, carefully, and had wrinkled her brow, which didn't become her at all.

“Are you all right, husband? I'm just coming back from the sept, and I thought I heard a thumping sound in here.”

Tywin waved his hand in a sharp, dismissive way. He wasn't accustomed to getting asked about his well-being, and it added to his annoyance.

 

He glowered at Sansa. Stared at her some more.

Then, he said in a flat voice: “So far, my day has been exceedingly unnerving. I think I've got need of my wife's sensual attentions to cheer me up.”

Sansa stiffened. Her blue eyes looked questioning.

“Yes, woman, you heard me correctly,” Tywin affirmed and spread his fingers on the desk.

His wife became even more rigid; she visibly squared her shoulders, like he had seen her do so often in Joffrey's presence.

“I see,” she uttered darkly, turned around and made for the door.

Tywin gaped at her back.

“What do you think where you're going, Sansa?”

His wife faced him again, now looking confused.

“Why... to our bedroom, of course. Your words pointed to that direction.”

 

Tywin inclined his head.

Ah. Of course. When it came to these things Sansa was still rather innocent, even if he had given her a foretaste of passion.

“There's no need for our bedroom, wife. Take a seat on my desk.”

For the second time within two minutes Sansa made an owlish face.

“On your... desk?”

“That was what I said. And put your feet on the armrests of my chair, so I can undress you and have a good look at you.”

Sansa flushed crimson and couldn't look him in the eyes, but she never missed a beat when she approached him and the desk.


	30. Chapter 30

Tywin was still sitting and watching the scene unfold. He personally added to the unfolding part. It was a pity that these days prudish morals dictated a high neckline and complicated lacing; he'd have preferred to see her breasts, but for now they'd have to make do. What he could make short work of were Sansa's smallclothes after having hoisted up her skirts.

 

It was a bright winter day, and the sun was sending its rays into the room, so when he revealed her body the view was a breathtaking one. And his wife even managed to blush down there.

The Lion's front teeth gnawed at his lower lip, and further down, his cock stirred.

Luckily, Sansa didn't recoil from his look, so he...

...what was that?

 

Tywin narrowed his eyes.

Was he seeing things, or was there a telltale shimmer on her folds?

He leaned forward, put his hands on her thighs and inhaled.

Sansa uttered a little squeak.

Mhhh, the unique scent of female arousal.

 

He inclined his head even further and breathed onto her skin. She shivered and gasped. His hand wandered further inwards on her leg, until he could trace her lightly with his index finger. It found a bit of wetness on the way, and though his face remained serious he did feel smug on the inside. 

Sansa could pretend to be the cold, perfect lady all she wanted – in truth, she did have a passionate streak and reacted to him. It would be his personal pleasure to tear down her emotional walls and to make her pine for sweet release. 

 

Tywin stood up and opened his breeches. He saw Sansa swallow.

“Look down and watch,” he murmured into her ear.

And even though her cleavage wasn't openly visible because of her clothing her pert nipples were discernible through the fabric – and their movements betrayed a quick breathing. How alluring. He'd have to examine this phenomenon further at some other point, when she'd be stripped bare completely for him. The mere idea caused him to twitch.

 

Time to get things done. Tywin took himself in hand and brushed his member against the little, hidden nub between her nether lips. Sansa uttered a petite noise.

“Watch,” he ordered her again.

When he was sure he had her attention he slid into her with a measured stroke; she gave way easily enough, although he had not had her often yet.

“Oohh...” she made.

Tywin felt his shoulder muscles relax. Mmmh, yes, this was what he had needed. He moved in and out of Sansa deliberately, and his hands rested on her backside. Their bodies came closer, and after some minutes, he felt his wife sagging against him. He didn't object to feel her cheek against his neck and her hot breath in the opening of his tunic.

 

The old Lion's mood was on the rise – until the moment he realized that Sansa was relaxed as well. Content. At ease. Rather than passionate, even less ecstatic.

Damn. He had had no real lover for decades. Whores uttered some false moans, and a tumble was a short and simple physical transaction anyway. All right, perhaps he shouldn't have any expectations with his wife either, but since he had already experienced her lust Tywin felt inclined to try to improve the recent coupling.

 

He stopped what they were doing, pulled a surprised Sansa off the desk and grumbled: “Let's turn you around.”

Next, he bent her upper body over the desk pad, lifted her skirts a second time and resumed his thrusts into her warm, wet centre.

 

It didn't take him long to find out he had made a tactical mistake: like during their wedding night, Sansa didn't react much to this position. It all turned from bad to worse when her eyes swept across his desk and one sealed letter caught her eyes. She grabbed the parchment before he could prevent it.

What followed was a joyous squeal that had nothing to do with his cock.

“Tywin! Look! That's a seal from Castle Black! And it says: “To Sansa Baratheon.” I know that handwriting. It's from my brother Jon! Oh Tywin, how wonderful! He's written me a letter!”

By then, the Lord of Lannister was getting angry.

“Dearest wife, I'm rutting between your thighs, in case you have forgotten,” he spat.

Sansa turned her head back towards him; surprised, refocussing.

“Oh, yes, I know. I'm just so happy.”

“You may want to evaluate your priorities anew, woman. Though... ah, fuck...”

 

Tywin's cock was getting limp. With a curse, he sank down into his chair. This was not how he had expected things to happen.

Sansa had the decency to look abashed.

“I'm sorry,” she chirped.

“As if that would help,” he gritted out.

It turned out that Sansa wanted to make amends and offered: “Before our marriage you expressed the wish I should... do the things with my mouth to you that you did to me. Should I...?”

She blushed.

 

Tywin looked to the side. He thought of what he'd have to do next, and he didn't feel the need to go on with their sensual interlude. Perhaps it had been a stupid idea from the beginning.

“I'll take you up on that offer, rest assured, Sansa, but not right now. You wish to read your blasted letter, and I've got to go down to the dungeons to meet a prisoner.”

 

Sansa's head snapped up.

“A prisoner? But... I thought that all the criminals are sent to the Wall!”

Tywin tucked himself into his trousers again and didn't look up at his wife when he answered: “Usually yes, but there are two exceptions from the rule at the moment. And I've got to meet one of the men.”

“Do these prisoners have anything to do with us, Tywin?”

His hands stilled for a split second on his laces.

Damn.

Aloud, he said: “One man has proven to be a danger for the realm. He's an agitator who tried to trigger off a riot against the king. He will be punished accordingly.”

 

Sansa's eyes became glassy, and she looked into the distance. It was obvious she was wrestling with her experiences from the past.

Tywin went on: “The other man hasn't been convicted of anything yet. There are just some private investigations going on. Call his situation “protective custody”.”

“I see.”

Sansa's voice was still flat, affected by her memories, and by the looks of it she had barely managed to grasp what he had said last. It was convenient enough.

 

“And tonight,” Tywin stated, “I won't be taking you from behind.”

That brought her attention back to the present – alongside with a surprising smile.

“Oh, that's good,” Sansa commented and rearranged her smallclothes.

“I thought you'd say that,” he mused.

Sansa nodded and looked up, fully clothed again.

There was another smile.

“It's much better when I can see your face,” his wife explained.

 

Lord Lannister blinked.

Meanwhile, Sansa prattled on: “And I hope you don't mind that I'm off to our private rooms to read Jon's letter now. I'll give you a report about anything that could be remotely interesting for you, of course. See you later then!”

Beaming, she bent down, gave him a spirited – though short – kiss, turned around and rushed out of the room.

Tywin was left behind and sat stock still for a moment.

Sansa had kissed him as of it were nothing. And she wanted to see his face while getting fucked and was outspoken enough to say so.

 

The old Lion rose. Duty was calling. And yet...

When he reached the steps that led to the dungeons he had come to the conclusion that Sansa was likely the weirdest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that in this chapter I'm leaning towards book canon. The passage in italics contains a book spoiler, so if you don't want to know, please leave out that paragraph.

As he made his way down into the smelly entrails of the Red Keep he focused on the memory of Sansa's delicious private scent; it served him as a metaphorical candle in the dark.

 

Since he was the king's Hand all the doors and barriers opened for him at once. Further and further down he went. Now that almost all the prisoners had been sent away the stink wasn't as pungent as usual, but an overall aroma of rot and decay would linger here forever.

He passed the door where the convicted inmate was awaiting his impending execution. Tywin wasn't interested in seeing this doomed commoner and walked on.

Further down the dripping, mildewy corridor the grubby, obtuse jailer, who had started to accompany him at the entrance of the dungeons, opened another door, which led to a solitary cell. The man opened that door as well and handed Tywin a lantern.

The Lord of Lannister entered, and the door closed behind him. In the dim light, he looked at the prisoner, who had remained silent and who was simply shooting him dark looks.

 

Not being a man of idle talk, Tywin headed for their main topic at once: “I must confess I've never believed you to be the most intelligent man. Far from it; but I wouldn't have thought to meet you here after an act of such utter ignorance.”

The prisoner was in fetters, but he tried to assume a position as erect as possible. As if that would help him.

“You won't get through with this, Lord Hand. I'm a nobleman. You cannot imprison me for sending Sansa a letter with a piece of advice.”

The man's voice was thinner than usually.

 

Tywin breathed in and out. What. An. Oaf. He believed himself to be safe? Had he never heard “The Rains of Castamere”?

“You may be a nobleman, yes, but your name isn't “Lannister”, if I remember correctly, and if I can even send my own daughter to the Quiet Isle – what do you think I'm willing to do to you? True enough, I'm not as stupid as the late Young Wolf; I won't behead you and let everyone know about it like that Stark lad did with Lord Karstark. Though I must admit that it would give me pleasure to follow his example after your filthy, defamatory, treasonous lies. But I don't have to go to these lengths. You could simply be left in this cell to rot. My men have already spread the rumour that you were last seen in the Street of Silk. People disappear in the Street of Silk from time to time, even noblemen. True, there would be some questions about your fate, but not too many. Nothing I couldn't handle.”

 

He let his words sink in and was met with silence. The prisoner was slowly starting to exhale fear. Good.

Tywin went on: “Perhaps you want to explain yourself.”

“What is there to say that YOU would understand? I wanted to keep Sansa from making a huge mistake, so I exaggerated a bit to make sure she wouldn't marry you.”

That caused Tywin to arch an eyebrow.

“And why would it be a mistake to marry me? After the king, I'm the most influential man in the kingdom. I'm also richer than the Crown.”

His statement earned him some bitter laughter.

“As if those were the vital points! The next words may cost me my head, but still I have to say them: Sansa is wasted on you! You're way too old, and you're a hard, cold man. The wedding was a farce!”

“So you think that you with your much lower status would be more suitable for her, is that the way of it? More suitable for a woman of Stark descent, with a family history of 8000 years in her back? I tell you: not even her faeces would be adequate for the likes of you.”

 

Angry silence. On both sides.

Suddenly, however, Tywin thought he heard a little “click” in his mind, and a new insight presented itself: “YOU were responsible for drugging her wine as well. You wanted to make her unconscious, to destroy her innocence, perhaps abduct her – hoping you could bind her to yourself forever in this way. Only your plan went wrong, because I accidentally drank from her goblet.”

The man in front of him was panting in suppressed mix of fear and anger. A cornered animal.

After a moment, he ground out: “It should have worked!”

 

Tywin snorted.

“You mean – the same plan that was applied to Jeyne Westerling and your relative after Robb Stark's death would have been useful here, too? You're even more of a fool than I thought! Tell me now: does Genna know about your... misled activities?”

“Of course I didn't tell mother about these details. She only knows I adore Sansa and she would have liked her as daughter-in-law. And before you consider punishing me – think of what you'd be doing to my mother. To your sister.”

In the face of such insolence and witlessness Tywin could only shake his head.

“Tion, Tion – if not for Genna I wouldn't even be here in this cell talking to you. Do you have the faintest idea what you've brought down on yourself and the Frey name? True enough, the reputation of your family isn't very distinguished to begin with, but you haven't furthered it in the least. You've poisoned and tried to abduct, perhaps even to rape a woman who has been queen, if only for an hour. In contrast to Robb Stark Joffrey wasn't a would-be usurper, but a king on the Iron Throne. Add defamation of the Hand to your list of crimes... This doesn't look good, Tion. Not at all.”

At that point, the young man started to tremble.

 

When Tywin re-emerged to the surface an hour later, he held a signed confession in his hands. Copies would be sent to different places in the Riverlands, which would weaken the Frey influence at the Twins. Considering Tion himself, it wasn't possible to make an exception from the rule Tywin had established, not in these dire, explosive times: his nephew had to take the Black, like all the other offenders in the realm.

 

Speaking of the Wall – Tywin was curious to hear what Eddard Stark's bastard had written to his wife.

 

_The lad had become the Lord Commander of the Black Crows, despite his ridiculous age... and he had been stabbed to death by his brethren and had magically come back to life. That episode was still mysterious, but it was rumoured that warging into the boy's white direwolf had played a part in his revival._

_And now, since his watch had ended in a way, Jon Snow had introduced new rules, had even made a wildling princess his lady love and had integrated the wildlings into his troops. From this point of view, it was especially important to learn what was going with respect to the fight against the Others._

_Tywin had corresponded with the man personally a few times when he had introduced the new penal laws. Jon Snow had sounded mature enough for his age and had been grateful for the reenforcements. The Lord Commander couldn't have learned from Sansa's marriage and illness yet, so their interactions would likely become more interesting in the future._

 

Tywin shrugged. He had never been a man to recoil from a challenge.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, I've made a stupid mistake! I've mixed up Lyonel and Tion Frey. At the beginning of the story, I still had them both, and in the correct order, so to speak. Of course, Lyonel would have been the correct choice as an enamoured, widowed suitor, not Tion. Tion is still a youngster in book canon, and though this is a future AU he'd still be too young to pull such a thing. Please accept my apologies. I hope that a quick update will make up for the lapse.

Dear Arya,

dear Sansa,

 

yes, the letter is for both of you. I've sent the Lord Hand a list with all the names of the people who have recently died in service for Castle Black, so that the relatives will know of their fate. The list is too long, as usual, but we're doing our best here at the Wall to dam up the flood of Others and undead White Walkers from beyond the far north. Unable to cross the Wall in my recent state, I still have to parade it up and down each day. Since I've been raised from the dead myself – though luckily I was allowed to keep my wits about me – I can sense occasional weak spots where the Wall's magic has grown thin. The Wildlings have got a handful of men amongst them who know something about ancient spells and the like, so they can at least repair the leaks, if not perform magic to the same extent that was common in the days of Bran the Builder.  
Unfortunate as it is – sometimes, we come too late and the foe has already crossed the barrier, wreaking his (or her) unholy activities on our side of the Wall. We do what we can, but often, it is hard not to give up hope.

 

Since the people – Black Crows and wildlings alike – turn to me for help we have decided to celebrate life wherever we can. Darkness can only be fought with light and coldness with warmth. Thus, the old rule of not marrying has been abolished; the wildlings were not willing to adhere to it anyway. The law had been established so that the people from the Night's Watch would not be weakened by their bonds towards the womenfolk. If I have learned one thing over the last years it is that this notion is utter rubbish. People are strongest when they know exactly what to fight for. Whom to fight for. There's no fiercer being than a mother who wants to protect her child.

Thus, we have decreed that henceforth marriages will be allowed.

And will you believe it? I myself have given an example and have wed a wildling woman. Her name is Val. Arya, you would like her. She's proud and strong and capable, not unlike the Mormont women, and she is beautiful, too. You may well ask how someone who has been revived like me can possibly live together with a woman. You are both unmarried and respectable young ladies (Arya, do NOT scowl or pout here), which means I cannot go into detail, but let me tell you that in spite of certain limitations Val and me are happier than many an unhappy couple whose marriage has been arranged. We will even have a child, and I'm proud to say it won't be born a bastard.

I've got a very capable steward as well, I should add. He's as handsome and friendly as competent. Sansa, I'm sure you would adore him at first sight.

 

There is something else I would like to tell you: I have discovered a grove with Weirwood shoots close to Castle Black, and more in other places south of the Wall. We take it as a good omen and have already carved faces into them. When I am close to the young trees I often think I can hear the voices of the Old Gods. Strangely enough, one of those voices sounds familiar to me, and after an hour in the new Weirwood groves I always have to think of Winterfell.

Once the winter is over, the castle should be rebuilt. The north needs a Lord – or Lady – Stark. I will confer with the Lord Hand about possible options.

 

One last thing: Ghost is doing fine. He disappears from time to time for a few days, which causes me to believe that he has got specific interactions with some female wolf or another in the area. I keep wondering if we might have a bunch of big white wolf pups in the years to come. However, he is lying at my feet now, head on his paws and pretending to be the most innocent animal in the world. I am just telling him that I am writing to you, and he is looking much happier all of a sudden. So you see: he does understand me and has got some warm memories of you, although it has been such a long time since we have seen each other.

I hope sincerely that we will be able to meet again once this horrible winter is over. It would give me much joy, and I am sure you would feel the same. Please write back to me soon, for I would be overjoyed to hear from you and to learn about your recent situation.

 

For the time being, I remain your loving brother,

Jon Snow, High Guardian of the Wall


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a bit ill, but my brain is coming back to me before my voice, so here we go.

Having read the letter from her brother – or half-brother, as she would have emphasized in the past – she pressed the paper to her chest, closed her eyes and made pirouettes through the bedroom. True, some of his news were sad, but oh! He had written to her as well, not only to Arya, who had treated him so much better. And he had married and would be a father! Sansa had never thought of Jon in such terms, even less after she had learned of his plans that he wanted to join the Night's Watch. It was weird to imagine him as someone who had already been in the Stranger's grip, or as a grown man – and least of all as a “High Guardian of the Wall”.

Then again... wasn't she a woman nearly grown herself now and married?

 

Sansa had to read the letter again and mouthed the words while doing so, thus trying to feel a part of Jon in his handwriting. Next, she realised she had to meet Arya. On the one hand, the letter was for her as well, and on the other hand, she wanted to confer with her about the news from the North. Surely, she would be just as thrilled.

 

When Sansa arrived at her sister's room, however, she could even hear in the corridor that her sister was having a tantrum: Arya was howling like an angry, wounded wolf, and with clattering sounds things were thrown against the chamber walls.

“Fuck! Fuck! This mustn't... it can't... DAMN!”

Sansa's eyes widened on hearing her sister having gone rampant in such a way, and she hastened to open the door.

It was barred.

“Leave me alone!” Arya yelled from the inside.

“We've got a letter from Jon,” Sansa shouted back.

 

There was a moment's silence, apart from some angry sobs. After a minute or two, the key turned in its lock and screeched as if it wanted to lament the injustice in life.

Arya looked as tousled as Sansa had expected: puffy red eyes, hair standing up in all directions, he dress torn and dirty... what on earth was going on here?

 

Sansa looked around, took in the chaos of broken things, a crumpled blanket on the bed, a chair which had been knocked over and said: “You tell me what's wrong with you, and then, you can read the letter.”  
Arya tried to snatch the parchment from her, but wasn't successful.

 

Finally, Arya gave in and whined: “I've got my first moon blood.”

“Oh.”

That was all Sansa could answer.

Arya hiccuped in between sobs and growled: “You know what that means. That “fine” husband of yours will auction me off like some piece of chattel to some horrible man to whelp his children. And don't tell me he doesn't have a plan for me yet. But I don't want to marry one of his monsters. I won't, Sansa, have you heard me?”

 

All Sansa could do was to take Arya by the arm and to sit down on the bed with her.

“I'll try to talk to Tywin. He'll be open to any alternative ideas he considers gainful.”

Arya snorted in answer to that, pointed with her chin at the letter and asked: “Can I have it now?”

 

When she had read it she looked at least a fraction better than before.

“I want to go to the Wall. No kidding. I rather want to fight against Others than against a husband. Anyway. At least Jon appears to have found a GOOD partner.”

Arya looked at Sansa with reproachful eyes.

Why did it always have to be like that?

Sansa pointed at the according line and went on quickly: “See, Ghost is fine as well. That's really good news. I wonder which kind of wolf lady he has charmed.”

Arya snorted again: “Not a lady, but a strong, wild animal from the north, I'd wager.”

Sansa sighed and stifled an answer.

“Speaking of ladies,” Arya continued, “Lady Genna has been up in arms all day. Running around like a headless chicken, berating her husband in public. I've never seen her like that. Whatever has happened to her – it must be especially upsetting. Some people are striking a really bad patch today, by the looks of it.

Sansa could only nod.

 

When she had left Arya's room after her sister had cooled down a degree or two she made for her husband's solar to inform him about Jon's letter and to talk to him about the other things she had learned.

It happened while she was walking; her brain associated words as if she meant to thread pearls on a string: Lady Genna – Tywin – prisoner – two prisoners – “protective custody” – letter... drugged wine.

Sansa gasped, and she nearly missed a step. Were these things connected? In an odd way it made sense. Robb had angered and insulted the Freys by not marrying his betrothed, a young Frey woman. Were the people from the Twins still mad at her family? Sansa remembered the ominous accusations in the anonymous message and how only few people could have known about certain aspects...

A shiver crept down her spine.


	34. Chapter 34

As Sansa didn't expect her husband to be back from the dungeons yet she went to the Sept and prayed for a while. Finally, she decided she had waited long enough and walked back to the Tower of the Hand. She was a bit hesitant when she knocked on the door of the solar.

“Enter.”  
So her husband was back indeed. She pressed the door handle and walked into the room.  
Tywin's gaze was scrutinizing, like so often. Since he was a man who didn't like waffling she decided to speak openly.  
“Husband – did the Freys have anything to do with the mysterious letter and... other plans in the past?”

Tywin stiffened a little and asked back: “So I hear Arya has flowered. Is she as upset about discovering that she is feminine as I imagine her to be?”  
Now, it was Sansa's turn to freeze.  
“You answer my question and I'll answer yours. And I'll tell you about Jon's news from the Wall, too.”

Tywin pressed his fingertips together.  
“Take a seat, Sansa. You'd hear the news soon anyway, so I better brief you.”  
Next, he informed her of what he had found out. Sansa's eyes grew wide.  
“No wonder your sister is up in arms. And folk from the Twins won't like this development.”  
“I give a damn about what they like as long as they don't pose a threat,” Tywin said and Sansa believed his bare word.  
“Tell my, Tywin – did they murder my mother?”  
“I don't think HE did – and neither do I believe he'd know any more on the matter, so torturing him would be useless. After all, we've seen how “cunning” he is. Not reliable enough for the Freys. The question of how your mother's life ended may never be solved in the future.”  
Sansa leaned back on her chair and looked into the distance.

“It's your turn now, wife.”   
Her focus returned to Tywin.  
“Sure.”  
Her own report on Arya's reactions to her moon blood and to her brother's letter followed. Tywin closed his eyes when she reached the second part to be able to concentrate on her account even better. When Sansa came to the point with the permissions of marriages in the Night's Watch he nodded.  
“So you approve of this decision, Tywin?” Sansa asked.  
“What do you expect, Sansa? I'm a man who has fought for his family for all his life. Of course I can understand your brother's motivation. Besides, some upset women whose partners have been sent north over the last months may decide to join them at the Wall; and that could lessen the frustrations in the realm in its turn. I'm coming to appreciate your Jon Snow more and more with each raven.”

Sansa thought she must have misheard. Such words from her husband's mouth!  
At once, her heart beat faster, but she calmed down again and asked: “With regard to Arya – you've already got plans for her future, haven't you?”  
Tywin reacted with a snort.  
“There are no easy solutions for your sister. I want to gain something for the Lannister family from a possible mode of action – or I want to avoid harm, if nothing else. What good would it bring if I married her off to, say, the young Tarly heir and she murdered him on the next best occasion for daring to bed her?”  
On hearing this, Sansa had to giggle, because she could imagine her sister doing this so well.  
Meanwhile, Tywin went on: “Given that Arya doesn't worship the New Gods there's no place for her in the ecclesiastical structures either. Which brings us back to the need to finding her a husband. He'd have to be in a neutral position between the Lannisters and the Starks so Arya wouldn't want to either kill him or use him for a revolt against the Throne or the Rock either.”  
“Neutral?” Sansa cut in. “Is that even possible?”  
“Difficult, isn't it? What's more: such a man would have to be tolerant enough to live with her quirks. If he'd tried to “educate” or to suppress her he'd only wake up with a dagger in his throat again. At the same time, he mustn't be a sissy like Eammon Frey. One wedded life like the one of him and Genna is already too much. And he must be of at least halfway acceptable descent, of course.”

Now, Sansa had to laugh.  
“Tywin, the man you're talking about still needs to be baked in the castle kitchens!”  
Her husband wrinkled his brow in distaste for her amusement and inclined his head.  
“Actually, I've got two ideas, though one is decidedly better than the other.”  
Sansa relapsed into silence at once and shot Tywin a curious look.  
“Tell me,” she begged.

“Well then. The first option would be Willas Tyrell. A cripple, yes, but I doubt his handicap would deter your sister. The problem is, however, that the Roses from Highgarden are already getting too influential without such a marriage. Loras in the new King's Guard, Margaery as Tommen's wife – I don't like the taste of the Tyrells establishing a bond with your old Stark bloodline.”  
It was easy for Sansa to follow Tywin's line of thought. The memory her own past, after her father's execution, when she had dreamed of becoming a Tyrell herself, looked awkward to her now.

“What's your second option then?” she asked.  
Her husband started to explain: “I've found a surviving bastard of late King Robert Baratheon. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't spare him a second thought, but he's of noble descent, a born Florent, and Robert has acknowledged him. His name is Edric Storm. He fled to Essos during the war, but a few weeks ago a first ship from overseas managed to withstand the winter storms and brought me tidings of his whereabouts. This Edric is a young man, and he has inherited some of his father's looks, but not his character. He doesn't have any strong family ties. A marriage with Arya would be a promotion for him.”

Sansa didn't know what to say to that – whether to like this idea or not.  
“What if they hate each other?”  
“We won't cross our bridges before be come to them. And as I said: there's more than one possibility.”  
They were silent for a moment. Then, Sansa rose, walked around the desk and reached her husband. Tywin, still sitting, looked at her – mildly confused, not knowing what she was up to.  
Sansa leaned down and kissed him square on his mouth. She could feel his bafflement grow during the kiss, but he did not pull away.  
When she ended the caress he asked: “What was that for?”  
Sansa smiled.  
“You're my husband. I simply wanted to do that. Will I see you at dinner?”  
Tywin coughed and answered: “I have to catch up with many things after our illness. I'll have a quick dinner here, and I'm sure I won't go to bed before midnight. So don't wait for me.”

Sansa remembered her father and how much he had worked during his short time as Robert's Hand.  
“I see,” she said, nodded and made for the door.  
“Sansa,” Tywin called after her.  
She turned back.  
“Yes?”  
“If you want safety and love, I'm the wrong person to turn to.”  
For a moment, she paused.  
Then, she answered: “Perhaps I'm truly turning into a Lannister. I'll take what I can get – and try to reach more than that.”  
With those words, she turned once more and left her husband behind. She did not look at his face again.


	35. Chapter 35

Tywin wondered if Sansa would run over to Arya and bleat out what he had just told her about a possible marriage. He was getting too trusting around her and didn't like it one whit. What irked him even more was that it was so easy for her to lure him into talking about things he should better keep for himself. At the same time, she proved to be cleverer than he had ever thought, and in most cases he was good at gauging characters.

Hmmm...

He decided he'd take advantage of the sensual moments Sansa was so willing to offer. There was nothing to say against fucking a wife regularly. And otherwise, he'd stay alert. He'd not let himself be drenched in honey, or end up emotionally dependent on a greedy, unworthy woman like his father.

 

With renewed energy, he tore through the heaps of parchments. He found out that his brother had done a good job while he himself had been ill. Kevan was a good man, he'd always known that. On second thought, it could be useful to reintroduce his brother into the Small Council. He needed a political confidante, simple as that, and all the more so now with too Roses at court for his taste. Yes, he could warm up to the idea of forgiving Kevan his slight. Besides, the rift between himself and Genna would dominate the next time, what with her son on the way to the Wall and the confessions made public in the Seven Kingdoms. It was better to have at least one sibling on his side, and – given the circumstances – it had to be Kevan then.

 

Time wore on, and it got later and later. At some point, Tywin stuffed a sandwich into his mouth, but later didn't even recollect which flavour it had had – only that it had not tasted of any poison he knew.

 

Towards midnight he started to rub his forehead and to yawn from time to time. Was he getting too old, or had he not recovered enough yet? At about half past twelve, he called it a day and went to his bedroom.  
There was still a crackling fire that was giving him all the light and warmth he needed. Sansa was fast asleep, just as he had told her she should be. Only her nose and an auburn lock peeked out from amongst the blankets.

 

Tywin yawned once more and walked over to the washing place. He poured water into the bowl and stripped naked. Next, he grabbed a piece of cloth and some soap that had been laid out for him. Tywin started to clean himself meticulously, like he always did, and kept pondering how the remaining food should be stored and rationed best, so that as many people as possible would survive the winter.

But then, the hair on his arms started to rise. Tywin was being gazed at, he could feel it. A quick flick from the corner of his eyes into the mirror above the washstand told him everything he needed to know.

“Not yet done staring at my naked arse, wife?” he asked.

 

Sansa squealed and buried her head under the blankets. Tywin thought that he had not been tempted so hard to smile in what felt like an eternity. How innocent Sansa still was... he couldn't help himself.

“Wife, since you're awake you can make yourself useful by washing my back.”

“I'm sorry for having stared at you,” she chirped.

He uttered a non-committal sound.

 

A moment later, he could hear the soft sound of naked feet behind him. He wetted the piece of cloth and held it up until until Sansa took it from his hand. She started to wash his back with slow moves. He could feel her warm breath on his skin. A pity he was so drained.

“Further down as well?” she asked and sounded shy.

“I'm not stopping you.”

Sansa wetted the cloth again and continued the procedure with his buttocks. What a little minx.

Tywin felt a faint echo of lust, despite his exhaustion.

 

Things took another turn when he started to feel her lips between his shoulder blades. Then, she leaned flush against him. Sansa was only wearing a thin shift, and he could feel her nipples through the fabric.

“She's really trying to seduce me,” Tywin realised and was more than a little surprised.

He took the cloth from her hands.

Next, he said: “I've been working all day, Sansa, and I'm tired.”

To make a point, he wrapped her fingers around his limp cock.

His wife uttered a petite noise of embarrassment and stammered: “I'm... I'm sorry if I haven't behaved adequately.”

Tywin arched an eyebrow.

“Did I say you were inadequate?”

Sansa was flustered.

“I don't think so.”

Tywin turned around and faced his young wife.

“I said I'm tired. It means I need particular attentions.”

 

Sansa needed a few seconds until it dawned on her what he wanted. She swallowed, flushed deep and sank to her knees in a slow movement.

“You... will you guide me?” she asked and looked up at him.

Tywin answered: “The basics are easy. No scraping with your teeth and no biting. Keep your throat relaxed so you don't choke.”

Sansa nodded, but she still had to learn what he meant.

So he went on: “Best start with some kisses. You've got an affinity for them anyway.”

From above, Tywin could see her bosom heave – an alluring sight. There was also a scar partly visible on her upper back, just where her nightgown opened near the nape of her neck; it was an ugly reminder of his dead grandson's incompetence. Tywin's faint lustful feelings nearly faded away. Yet, his need was revived when Sansa brushed her hair away and licked her lips nervously. Further down, his member started to show first signs of life. Oh, well, he didn't get served like that for the first time, and the women from Alayaya's had been trained to be effective.

 

Nothing, however, could have prepared Tywin for Sansa's first clumsy kiss at his base. Tywin closed his eyes and saw stars.


	36. Chapter 36

When Sansa awoke the next morning she was alone again, her husband long gone to fulfil his duties as the Hand. She was a tad melancholic about it, because she'd have liked to wake up next to him. Still, her predominant feeling was one of deep happiness.

Before her marriage she hadn't believed she could ever feel joy again, not after all the horrible things she had experienced, let alone the bliss she had experienced the previous night – it had been beyond what she had been able to imagine.

 

Her memories returned to Tywin's scent, to the way he tasted, to the texture of his most private parts. Sansa blushed. She had learned that certain intimacies were considered dirty; at the same time, she had been told as a child that it would be her foremost duty to make her future husband happy. What now if those intimacies were the very means to reach Tywin's contentment?

At night, she had looked up at him after her first – not very competent – attempts at pleasuring him with her mouth and had met his gaze.

Sansa had not known eyes could look like Tywin's had done then. Her heart had beaten like a drum in response. She had never believed a serious man like him could feel true bliss – but that was exactly what she had seen... and something else, something that was directed at her and that she didn't dare to put into words.

 

It had been Tywin then who had pulled her up into a standing position once more... and who had kissed her. Gods, how he had kissed her! That had been beyond her imagination as well.

It would have been impossible to tell who had been pulling whom to the bed next. They had just been... tumbling into the direction of their four-poster. The only thing that had counted was that she had welcomed her husband, that he had sunk himself into her, and that she had felt complete.

 

“Tell me Sansa: which movement do you like best? Slow grinding and staying deep inside of you?”

His breath had been hot in her ear, and he had showed her. She had felt his balls and his coarse hair rub against her sensitive outer parts, and she had moaned in between kisses.

“Good?”

“Gods, yes, Tywin!”

“What about quick little thrusts then?”

He had changed his movements accordingly, and deep in her core she had felt his tip brush against another sensitive spot. It had caused her toes to curl inwards in pure lust.

Her husband had moaned into her mouth; she had wrapped her arms around his neck and had drunk in the delicious sound.

“And this, Sansa?”

She had only begged for more.

“We can also have slow, deep thrusts, hm?”

The friction along the way while he had moved in and out in a controlled rhythm had caused her to sob.

“So good?”

She had only been able to nod.

 

“What do you like best then?” Tywin had purred.

And had stopped. She had moaned in agony.

“Tell me Sansa.”

In an effort, Sansa had wrapped her legs around his middle.

“I...”

“Yes, Sansa?”

Her voice had been tremulous from sheer arousal.

“I like my Lion wild.”

She had seen Tywin looming above her, panting from what they had already done – but then, his eyes had darkened, the expression in it had become even more intense...

 

The next moment, he had been ploughing into her with all the fierceness of a predator falling upon a victim. Only she had not been a victim. Not any more. She had met his wild movements with the same hunger and had felt free. And strong – for the first time in her life.

Before, she had been a lot: sweet, good, gentle, pious, competent with needlework. But never strong. And all of a sudden, she had been rolling around in bed with her husband, had been brave enough to voice her needs and had been as enthusiastic as him. Until the glory within her had erupted... and even a little beyond, until Tywin had followed her.

 

After the mad pace of their lovemaking had come to an end they had kissed some more, languid and wholly satisfied. In the end, they had fallen asleep in each other's arms.

 

The memories caused Sansa to glow and to smile into her cushion. Never would she have thought that Tywin could be like that. In the past, she had never seen behind his cold, hard façade, beyond his ruthlessness. True, she had known he had been happy in his first marriage. And yet. Had anyone told her that the Lion of Lannister was still capable of such passion and of such... caring for a lover – she would have believed the person not to have all the bats in the belfry.

 

“If you want safety and love, I'm the wrong person to turn to.”

That was what Tywin had said to her, and it had stung – now, however, she was starting to ask herself whether he had been wrong. After all, he was intelligent and cunning, but not infallible.

Sansa smiled some more, though now determination was stealing into the mix. After last night, she knew she wanted to get the most out of this marriage; and while it was unclear how far they would get together Sansa had found out that there was more of a basis, that there were deeper emotions on both sides than she had ever deemed possible.

 

She had her handmaidens draw her a bath, then donned clothes befitting her position and even dared to put on some jewellery Joffrey had given her in their early days. She could wear them now. They had ceased to be disgusting reminders and had turned into simple metal pieces for decoration. Maybe, Sansa had scars on her back and soul, but she wasn't a victim any more. She felt she was changing.

 

After an hour, she emerged from her chambers, a perfect wife of the king's Hand, and walked to the Throne Room where court would be held after the meeting of the Small Council.

“I'm growing strong, only I'm no Rose from Highgarden,” she thought. “I'm both a Wolf and a Lioness now, and I have to thank Tywin for it. This vicious circle of hatred and more hatred – I may not be able to extinguish all negative feelings, but I swear I'll fight the system of rottenness from within. With my own measures. No swords, no knives in the dark, no poison.”

 

“Lady Lannister,” Queen Margaery addressed her from amongst her ladies-in-waiting, and Sansa inclined her head – not more, for she had been queen as well, if only for two hours.

“You look exceptionally radiant this morning, Lady Lannister. Wedded life does you good.”

Sansa's face split into a smile, and she knew she had never smiled in public like that in King's Landing.

“Thank you, Queen Margaery. Please let me return the compliment. I was just thinking about the Tyrell family words and about their merit. They're good words.”

The queen smiled and chirped some niceties, but Sansa could tell how the other young woman was confused about Sansa's demeanour, how she was pondering whether there was any undetected vitriol in the statement.

The closer you got to the top of society, the lonelier you got. And Margaery was queen. Had she got what she wanted, or was she already sorry about losing the carefree days of the past when she had just been a Lord's promising daughter? Sansa had gone through the same process, just much earlier.

She also knew that the Tyrells had tried to use her for their purposes in the past, Margaery included. For a while, Sansa had been bitter about it when she had realised the truth. These days were over now. Sansa had learned a lot since then. Granted, she still needed to learn so much more, but she'd ask Tywin for guidance, like she had done in another matter the night before.

 

Just at that moment, the folding doors of the Throne Room flew open and King Tommen and the members of the Small Council entered the room. The boy waved at Margaery and her.

Tywin – erect and solemn – only indicated only with an expressionless curt nod he had seen Sansa, and yet, her heart hopped. For a split second, their eyes met, and she saw respect in them, appreciation even. It was all she needed to know. For the moment.

Sansa smiled back, letting everybody know she was devoted to her husband. And more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of smiles - I hope I didn't overdo it, but I thought Sansa deserved some joy...


	37. Chapter 37

It had been a long night – but also a wonderful one, he had to admit. The meeting of the Small Council, however, had been longer and far less enjoyable. Now that the winter was slowly coming to an end, the first ships from overseas had reached Westerosi ports, which was a great relief, because they were shipping in food. Grain, meat, dried fruit – anything was welcome.

Yet, the sailors and merchants also spread news from Essos... and those had been negative, to say the least: the Targaryen girl, Daenaerys, and her troops and dragons had invaded Pentos. The city was said to be a ruin now; all the slaves had been set free and the old local nobility had been overthrown. Three dragons had been counted, and the beasts had burned houses, animals and humans alike with their deadly flames, leaving nothing but a trail of misery behind.

 

The problem was that Pentos was the Free City closest to Westeros. Any fool could understand what this Daenaerys was up to. She was a threat to Tommen and to all the noble families who had supported Robert Baratheon during his rebellion against King Aerys. Jaime, who had killed the mad monarch, would likely be extinguished first. Dragons were known to be vindictive. Tywin had already sent his son a raven to warn him. If the Targaryen girl ever made it across the Narrow Sea they'd all be doomed.

During the meeting, there had be heated debates about how to tackle the imminent danger. Kevan had considered Wildfire cannons, supposing that the substance could even kill dragons. Tommen had come up with the idea of taking up quarters below the ground so they wouldn't share the fate of Harren the Black. While it was nothing to prevent an attack Tywin had to admit that he had heard far more stupid suggestions from many grown men, King Robert included.

Tywin himself had spoken in favour of attempted murder. It would only be a question of a suitable, unsuspicious-looking assassin. Of course, Tommen had been outright against this concept, but Tywin had already decided he would go through with the project. His family would always be of utmost priority, the qualms of a soft-hearted child notwithstanding.

After hours, the Small Council had finally come to an end.

 

Now, on entering the Throne Room, Tywin shot Sansa a quick look and could only think once more that he couldn't give her the peace and safety she was craving for. The mere thought of her being fed to a dragon turned his guts to ice, and he knew he'd do anything to prevent this catastrophe. After all, she was probably with his child now, after their extensive lovemaking.

 

“Who am I fooling? This isn't only about a possible heir. I'm getting too fond of her,” he thought. “Once I can be sure she has conceived I should send her north, to Winterfell. To restore her home. Or even to her half-brother at the Wall. It's the last place in Westeros the dragons would turn to. If only that place wouldn't be threatened by those undead monsters.”

 

At least one thing had worked out the way he had planned it – and even much more quickly than he had anticipated it: in the early morning hours, Edric Storm had already been on the latest ship to reach King's Landing. It had taken little encouragement to cause the homesick lad to leave his hiding in Essos and to come back to the Seven Kingdoms. After all, he was a Baratheon bastard and didn't feel the wish to encounter Daenaerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi and only the Seven knew which new titles the girl had acquired.

Tywin intended to meet Edric later on, after the boy had had a decent bath. Once he was able to assess the bastard's character it would be clear how to proceed with him.

 

What was this?

Tywin's thoughts returned to the present.

Why was Sansa standing next to Margaery? Was she trying to spy on the Tyrell Queen, or to manipulate her? Only Sansa wasn't Cersei, so he had no idea what his wife was up to. Ah, she was so much less predictable than he would have ever thought. It was part of what made her fascinating, he guessed.

 

Tommen holding court was far less a complicated affair than it had been with spoilt, demented Joffrey. Tommen could already settle some easy matters on his own, though there were not many of them. Whenever there were more complicated petitions or situations, however, the boy looked up at him, Tywin, asking for his grandfather's advice. The Lord of Lannister tried to educate the child as best he could: sometimes, he wouldn't simply decide for the him, but present facts in a more understandable light, or give Tommen more than one alternative to choose from.

It was surprising to see how the boy was starting to develop some Lannister traits he had lacked before: strength and intelligence. True, Tommen wasn't cunning like Cersei; he more resembled Jaime. Yet, there was also a gentleness in him that was alien to the Lions. It reminded Tywin of Sansa. Anyway, Tommen was becoming more and more promising, and in this context, the prospect of a Targaryen invasion was even more of a nightmare.

He'd have to converse with Sansa about these things, and soon. Over the past decades, Kevan had been his only reference person in such situations, but now, Tywin longed to discuss these things with his wife. She was still young and thus only applying a simple strategy when it came to the Game of Thrones, but he sensed she was developing into the right direction, could provide fresh insights, and she seemed to be more loyal to him than he could ever have expected.

 

From next to the throne he looked at Sansa again. She was beaming at him with her bright, Tully blue eyes as if it were the most normal thing to show her appreciation of him openly. His heartbeat accelerated. Damn, why did he even worry about this Targaryen girl? After all, he WAS already doomed.


	38. Chapter 38

If you didn't count his big ears, which he had inherited from the Florent side, the boy looked very much like his sire... or at least like Robert or Renly in their younger years. Indeed, there was no doubt about the lad's identity: this was Edric Storm, the late king's only acknowledged surviving bastard.

 

Tywin also flicked his eyes at the other man who was standing in front of the desk in the Hand's Solar. The boy's guardian was named Andrew Estermont, a tall fellow with lots of brown facial hair.

“Leave Edric and me alone,” Tywin said.

Andrew Estermont wrinkled his brow.

“I'm his protector.”

“Now **_I_** am.”

That was all Tywin had to say on the matter.

The other man bristled. Edric Storm, however, remained silent and simply looked from one to the other.

“He's watching,” Tywin thought. “He must be cleverer than his sire. Not as if that would be difficult to achieve, but still.”

In the end, the man from House Estermont pivoted around with an angry growl and stalked out of the room. Tywin made a mental note that Ser Andrew would have to be assigned a new task. Perhaps he could be sent North, in the vanguard that would assess the damage of Winterfell and that would start to restore the castle.

 

Next, Tywin's focus turned towards Edric Storm again. The youngster wasn't shaking in his boots though they were alone now, which indicated some courage. Good. Arya Stark would appreciate courage, wild and unruly as she was herself.

“I heard you've been in Lys and Pentos, Edric.”

“Yes, my Lord. First in Lys, for quite a while. When Daenaerys Targaryen arrived with her dragons and her armed forces, we managed to flee to Pentos just in time. From there, we retreated back to Westeros.”

The bastard's voice was already surprisingly dark and rich; he sounded like a grown man. Tywin pursed his lips and pressed his fingertips together.

“Take a seat. Our conversation may take a little longer.”

“Thank you, Lord Hand.”

 

For several minutes, Tywin questioned the lad about the Targaryen girl and her forces. Of course, Edric Storm possessed no intimate knowledge about Daenaerys Stormborn or her troops; nevertheless, the information the lad had got in Essos was more precise than the wild rumours they had heard.

Three dragons of different colours. Followers, former slaves and fighters came from everywhere, even from the Dothraki grass sea where Daenaerys's career had started. By the look of it, two Westerosi noblemen served her, too: the exile Ser Jorah Mormont, and old Ser Barristan Selmy.

Tywin thought: “And here we can see what a fool Joffrey was to release the ageing knight from the King's Guard.”

The Old Lion also learned that Daenaerys had re-married a local nobleman and had become a widow a second time. Besides, she had had a blue-bearded lover, at least for a while. Another fierce fighter. Not good, not good, if the young woman had learned to lead men by their cocks.

Tywin couldn't help it, but had to think of Sansa, who was just in the process of learning the same... at least with regard to him. But then, he chided himself about letting let his thoughts wander.

 

The next point on their list were Edric's guardians, for there had been other men than Andrew Estermont who had protected the bastard in Essos: Ser Gerald Gower, Ser Tristan of Tally Hill, Omer Blackberry and an obscure individual dubbed “Lewys the Fishwife”. Tywin committed all these names to his memory and decided at once to scatter these men scatter these men all over Westeros. They were Edric's confidantes, but the Lord of Lannister needed the young man to be dependent on him.

 

“You have already experienced a lot for your age, young man, and you're still alive. This is more than many others could say about themselves.”

“I was fortunate that I've always had some friends who supported me, Lord Hand.”

Tywin tilted his head.

“You mean there have always been people who intended to profit from your survival. While I'm not someone to befriend I'd be willing to support you as well. Under certain circumstances, that is.”

“You mean – if I comply to your wishes.”

Hmhm, the boy was showing more signs of intelligence.

“I wouldn't put it like that, Edric. I'd rather say: if our needs and wishes align.”

 

The lad looked into the distance.

In a hollow voice, he asked: “What are your terms, Lord Lannister?”

Tywin leaned back.

“I've got a marriage candidate for you. Perfect pedigree, but quite a challenge. I need someone who is able to face up to her and to rein her in. In exchange for that I'd grant you a Lordship and a big fortress with your own, fertile lands. What do you say?”

 

As it turned out, Edric Storm had already mastered the principle of sarcasm, for he answered: “No offence meant, Lord Hand, but coming from your mouth and knowing that you're a cunning negotiator I'm asking myself what kind of wight-ridden ruin the castle is – and what kind of a banshee my possible future wife.”

A lesser man than Tywin would have flinched at the words and at how precise they were. As it was, the Lord of Lannister thought of both Harrenhal and of Arya, and though his mouth remained serious as always there was a spark of entertainment in his eyes.

“Well, let me enlighten you about some details then, Edric.”


	39. Chapter 39

The Baratheon bastard had been practical enough to be willing to have a look at Arya Stark – and cunning enough to ask for support when it came to maintaining Harrenhal. Edric had lived remotely during his childhood, at Storm's End and Dragonstone, but even he had heard the rumours that Harrenhal was said to be cursed.

Tywin couldn't hold it against the boy that he didn't want to be given a white elephant. In his own opinion the main problem was that the castle was too big to maintain. Parts of the fortress had to be dismantled and used for other purposes, like enlarging the settlement called Harrentown. By attracting some traders they could reach a boost for the local economy. It would be the task of a lifetime, of course, and he himself wouldn't live to see the result... but perhaps Sansa would. And Arya would be kept from wreaking havoc in the realm in the future. Yes, yes, Tywin was willing to invest money into the first phase of the project: the deconstruction of the superfluous castle parts.

 

Contentedly, he was nibbling on his lunch – when there was a sharp knock on his door.

“Come in.”

It was one of his guards, a haggard, pockmarked man.

“Lady Arya Stark is asking for an audience, Lord Hand.”

Tywin arched his eyebrow.

Now what was that? Since when was the little hellion resorting to official reception procedures?

“Lead her in.”

The guard bowed and left the room.

A moment later, Arya entered. Her jaw was set, her nose and forehead wrinkled, and her steps were stiff.

“Lord Hand.”

Tywin could only think: “She's even using my title. This is getting more and more interesting. Is she suspecting something about a marriage? About Edric?”

Aloud, he said: “Lady Arya. What do you want?”

 

He would have expected anything: to have to duck from daggers she'd fling at him, reproaches, insults, demands... what she came up with, however, had absolutely not been on his internal list.

“I want to help you.”

Tywin blinked.

“... well not YOU, Lord Tywin, but rather the realm.”

The Lord of Lannister propped up his elbows on the desk, pressed his fingertips together and said: “Proceed.”

“I've heard of Daenaerys Targaryen, over in Pentos.”

“Rumours should be flying high by now, I presume.”

“You want to assassinate her, don't you?”

Tywin sat up straighter than he was doing already.

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“It be so like you to do that, given the danger the Seven Realms – and especially your family – is in.”

“And now Sansa is a part of the Lannister family as well.”

Arya pursed her lips.

“It's not only that. Father supported Robert's Rebellion as well, so the Starks are a probable target for Targaryen vengeance as well.”

Tywin inclined his head in agreement.

“What exactly are you offering me, Lady Arya?”

“To carry out the killing of the Dragon Queen.”

 

A man with less self-control would have dropped his jaws. Tywin didn't do that, but still he had to stare at the girl in front of him in utter disbelief.

Arya stamped her foot.

“What!? I've had fighting lessen, I've seen my father's execution, I've survived in Flea Bottom, I've seen all the horrors of war... and I have already killed. Before you found me and brought me back to King's Landing. So don't look at me like all the other men. As if a were a little girl. A girl who should become a blasted lady. I am no lady and I'll never be one. What I'm good at is getting into places unseen. And at looking inconspicuous. I swear I could even get into Daenaerys Targaryen's court and find out what her plans for the future and her possible vengeance are BEFORE sticking her with the pointy end of my weapon. Stealthy like a cat. Quick like a snake. Fierce like a direwolf.”

 

Lord Tywin had listened to Arya's outburst and mulled things over.

Why not give it a try, actually? He and the Lannisters had nothing to lose. If the Stark girl died in the process he'd be rid of her and her theoretical claims to Winterfell; and if she was successful he'd be rid of the Targaryen danger and Arya could still be married off to Edric Storm. Hm... yes, she looked harmless enough, if she chose to school her features, just tomboyish, but chances were that the Targaryen spawn would be rather intrigued than repelled by such an appearance.

 

And then, Lord Tywin did what he had barely ever done in his adult life: he smiled. At his goodsister. Not with his eyes, but with his mouth.

“I approve of your idea, Lady Arya. You'll get a place on a ship to Braavos. And better be successful.”

He noticed the girl in front of him shiver, but at the same time, she squared her shoulders and stuck up her chin in defiance.

“I won't fail.”

“Fine. If that is all, you may go now.”

“Lord Hand?”

“Yes, Lady Arya?”

“You know – over in Essos I'll be only practising for someone else.”

“I'll keep that in mind, Lady Arya.”

 

Arya pivoted around and walked away from the desk. When she reached the door she turned around once more.

“Lord Hand?”

“What is it?”

“If you want to scare your servants out of their wits you should smile more often.”

And with those words she was gone.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, I was gone at the weekend (to an authors' gathering where I read an original story, which was great). No wonder I didn't write a chapter for the story, but I'm trying to catch up now. Somehow, I was in dire need of smut again; I hope you will forgive me for not resisting the temptation. :-)

Sansa wanted to learn what had come of her husband's meeting with Edric Storm. For the time being, however, she was passing some time at the training barracks because of King Tommen. Lately (since Cersei's departure, to be exact), Tywin had intensified the boy's physical training. Sansa could find no fault in this since the former queen had not cared about her son's fitness.

 

As it was, Tommen had to do a lot to catch up with other children of his age, but to Sansa's delight, the boy wasn't deterred.

The king just wrinkled his brow at one point and said: “Grandfather was right. I'll have to practise even more. How can I be king, how can I expect my subjects to follow me, to die for me even, if I can't keep the realm safe with a sword personally? All right. Let's try it again.”

How different that was from Joffrey's attitude! When Tommen was able to block a strike that had left disarmed him a dozen times before he uttered a victorious shout – and wanted to do it again, to practise it until the parade had become a reflex.

 

“Wonder what the Hound would say now,” the King said, beaming with pride.

Sansa was tempted to say that Sandor Clegane's greatest praise would have likely been a nod and a grunt, perhaps accompanied by a mocking comment; yet, she kept quiet. It surprised her that Tommen was still holding the scarred warrior in high esteem, at least with regard to the fighting prowess.

Rumour had it that Clegane had left Westeros after the Battle of the Blackwater to join a famous band of mercenaries. Sansa thought of him from time to time and wondered whether he had found more happiness by now. She did wish him some measure of contentment, even though her experiences with him during the battle had been daunting, to say the least. Yet, she had better memories of the Hound than of the other courtiers. That Tommen was thinking along the same lines only proved that the man hadn't been as bad as his reputation.

 

To distract herself, Sansa looked sideways, to Margaery, whom she had talked into accompanying her. It was important that the spouses were seen together, that they were conceived as a team. The queen knew it as well and though she was more enthusiastic to see her brother train with the other members of the King's Guard she applauded her young husband, and her smile looked genuine enough.

Sansa said to her: “He may not be a fighter like Ser Loras or Ser Jaime, but his attitudes and conduct show that he'll make a fine king.”

“You've got a good eye, Lady Sansa, and I agree. I'm grateful to be the partner at his side, and I'll do my best to give him good counsel.”

Sansa removed the saccharine tone and the layer of politeness from this statement and looked at what Margaery was actually saying.

She watched another royal parade and said: “Wedded life – short as the time has been so far – is teaching me that good advice is best when it's also loving.”

Margaery glanced at her with arched eyebrows.

“Lady Sansa, I must confess I wouldn't have expected you to find this specific piece of wisdom in your marriage.”

Sansa smiled and said: “Expect life to surprise you.”

 

Mere minutes later, she was proven right with her last statement when a foreign youngster entered the training hall; at once, his looks reminded Sansa of dead King Robert and his brother Renly.

“This must be Edric Storm,” she thought.

To her delight, Tommen and Robert's bastard took to each other at once, despite the... problematic parentage and Edric's lower social status. Fascination outweighed all other sentiments. In no time, the two were training together as if they were best friends. After the exercises, they left the hall together, chatting and gesticulating.

 

Gladdened about the development, Sansa packed the needlework she had brought along and made for her husband's solar. Margaery remained behind with Ser Loras, whose shift had just ended. Humming to herself, Sansa walked through the corridors and knocked on the door that led to the Hand's solar.

“Enter.”

When Sansa came in, her husband looked up from behind his omnipresent piles of paper scrolls and said: “There's more coming and going here today than up in the rookery.”  
“If I'm disturbing you we can talk later, and I can leave again.”

“Don't you dare. I could do with a little pause. Come here.”

Sansa thought of what they had done the previous night and blushed.

 

When she arrived at Tywin's armchair, he pulled her down onto his knees, and her heart started to flutter. She put her arms around his neck and buried her hot face against his collarbone.

“You're still too scrupulous around me. I hope this will lessen the longer you're a Lannister,” Tywin said. “And now tell me: how did Tommen's training go?”

Sansa reported what had transpired. When she portrayed Edric's and Tommen's interactions she noticed her husband prick up his ears.

“Are you against them becoming friends?” she asked and rubbed her nose against Tywin's doublet.

“Not necessarily. A comrade could be useful for Tommen. Under certain circumstances, that is. I'll keep an eye on it, but for now, I don't mind them passing time together.”

 

Sansa gasped.

While Tywin had been talking his hand had sneaked under her skirt and his fingertips had started to brush her private parts. Again? Hadn't they been indulging in this all night? How often was she expected to do this with Tywin?

“Sore?” he asked.

Sansa flushed scarlet.

“A little in the morning, but I'm fine again.”

“Good. Hook your legs over the armrests.”

For a moment, Sansa was sure she must have misheard. Then, however, she did as she had been asked.

Tywin's hand invaded her smallclothes and combed through her hair down there, making her gasp again. His knowing fingers soon elicited the first moans, and his warm breath and lips and tongue on her neck only served to increase the effect. It didn't take long for her to reach her peak.

“Thank you,” she breathed once she was coming back to her senses.

“Don't thank me as if I were being generous – because I'm not. I want more.”

 

Sansa looked up in puzzlement, but Tywin didn't give her any more time and deposited her on the desk after having put his papers away for the moment. Her smallclothes were gone in an instant. Next, he placed her legs over his shoulders... and then, he put his mouth where his fingers had been.

“Gods!” Sansa moaned.

She was still too sensitive from the previous exercise and didn't know how to endure her husband's hunger. And Tywin WAS hungry for her. She looked down at his head between her legs. Her husband was immersed into his activity, and his face looked as if he were relishing a delicacy from the royal kitchen. Sansa was embarrassed again... and helpless in his firm grip that was holding her in place, no matter how much she tried to wriggle.

Tywin was getting to know her better, and he kept licking and nibbling and sucking at her in a way that drove her close to a second climax – but not quite there. Despite the many things he still had to do he was in no hurry and intent on enjoying her to the maximum.

“Please, gods, PLEASE!” she begged and started to sob.

This was too good... too... too...

“Aaaahhh!”

Her spasms hit her like the force of a ram.

Tywin looked up at her and wiped his mouth. His feline eyes glowed with Lannister smugness.

Still panting and with a faint voice, Sansa said: “Please don't be angry with me, but I don't think I'll be able to cope with more intimacies now. Or tonight.”

 

Her husband made a dismissive gesture.

“I'm a lion. Not a rabbit.”

Sansa couldn't help it and giggled. Under Tywin Lannister even rabbits would be dangerous, she was sure, and his libido could hardly be questioned, no matter the sigil.

Apart from that, she started the need to pay him back for his demanding behaviour.

“Pfft – lion, rabbit. You're my husband, that's what counts. And I wonder if I may enjoy you likewise.”

Tywin arched his golden-grey eyebrows like he did so often.

“Acquiring a taste for this? Ah, I won't stop you – only you may expect my cock not to fully comply after all those extensive exercises last night. The male flesh cannot play as hard as the female one when it comes to couplings.”

 

Sansa flushed red, but there was also a twinkle in her eyes.

“And you men are considering yourselves to be the strong sex,” she taunted.

Gods, how had it become possible to banter with the Lord of Lannister without having to fear immediate, harsh retaliation? Oh, well, better not run a risk. Tywin's mood could be upset from one moment to the next. 

Hurriedly, Sansa crept in the niche under the desk, opened her husband's breeches and set to work. His manhood was half flaccid, just like he had indicated, but it didn't hinder either of them to go on. Above her, she heard a dark, contented hum, and Tywin's fingers combed through her hair with his left hand, which she liked.

With his right, he was reaching for his papers again. How on earth he'd be able to concentrate on his messages and memos was a riddle for Sansa she couldn't solve – because she didn't have the time to ponder this any further.

 

There was an angry voice Sansa knew, next came a hurtling sound in front of the solar door, revealing a scuffle, and finally, there was a call as if someone was yelling at a guard: “You will not deny me access, understood?”

Before Sansa had the time to re-emerge from under the desk the door to the solar door flew open with a loud bang! All she could do was to still on Tywin's private parts, and it was a minor wonder she didn't squeal in shock and shame. Her only hope was that the paneling of the desk hid her from view efficiently.

Further up, her husband's voice was as icy as the Wall when he addressed the intruder: “Have you gone mad? I'm not to be disturbed, understood? Leave. At. Once.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't want to keep you waiting for too long.  
> Well. Someone is switching back into "bastard mode"...

The vein on Tywin's forehead was swelling.

“No, I'm not leaving, Ty. What do you think you're doing? Have you had a look out of your window? No? Do you know what you can see from it? Genna and her family are packing their things though it's still winter and are gathering in the yard to leave. Well, she and her family minus one son.”

Kevan was frothing at the mouth.

Yet, Tywin wasn't known for mild reactions either.

 

“That son of hers drugged me and my wife, defamed me and intended to abduct Sansa to have her for himself. I couldn't have reacted differently, apart from claiming his head. He HAS to go to the Wall. It's the law. And now, be gone.”

After these words, nobody in his right mind would have dared to confront the Lord of Lannister any more. This meant Kevan wasn't in his right mind, for he neared the desk, instead of backing away. Tywin leaned forward as if to prop up his elbows on the surface while he was, in fact, trying to shield Sansa from view.

 

They spoke at the same time.

“I told you to get lost!”

“You'll not send me away like a rabid c...”

 

Kevan stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw sagged, his eyes widened and his mouth gaped as if he were a carp on land. Then, he took two steps back, flushing bright red.

Angrily, Tywin palmed his face.

Great. Splendid. Just what he had needed.

“I... I...”

 

Under the desk, Sansa was wincing and blushing in shame as well.

“When will you learn that I've got reasons for my orders, Kevan!? And when will you get it into your head that a closed door with a guard in front of it is NOT supposed to be opened at any time? And come to think of it: when will you come to respect the sphere of the king's Hand?”

 

Tywin tucked himself back in... though – unnerving as it was – his half rigid cock found it all very fascinating and refused to soften. His wife was still hiding under the desk, unwilling to face his brother.

 

Once he was fully clothed again a few moments later, Tywin got up and marched to the door.

“Ty, what...?”

He stepped into the corridor, followed by Kevan, who was eager to leave the solar.

 

Tywin looked at the guard at the entrance. The man started to tremble – which was an adequate reaction. Then, the Lord of Lannister called for the other Gold Cloaks in his wing.

“Arrest this guard. He has failed in his tasks. Take him to the cells. Flog him in public later. He's banned from the capital afterwards.”

The face of the man in question assumed an ashen hue, but he showed no opposition when he was led away.

 

As soon as the Gold Cloaks were out of earshot, Kevan hissed: “Was that necessary? He let me enter, yes, but I'm your brother.”

Tywin answered: “Don't pretend there has never been a case of kinslaying before at court. Besides – if it hadn't been you the man's head would be about to grace a block now and later a spear. And now: leave. I have to calm down my wife and no time for your faulty behaviour. But don't believe you're off the hook. I'll think about your insolence and your disobedience later.”

 

Kevan looked like a child who had been called to the carpet for a prank, but the whole episode was more serious. Tywin was fuming on the inside when he watched his brother go: after the disaster with the cock cake he had just been willing to accept Kevan back in the Small Council. And now this.

FUCK.

 

In his solar, there was a sob. Tywin sighed. Was he getting old, or why did he have the feeling that this day was driving him towards the thin line that separated stress from madness?

He strode back into his office.

Sansa threw herself at him and lamented: “Gods! I'll never be able to meet your brother again.”

Tywin grumbled: “Forget it. It's not as if I had never seen him with a woman. Found him with a kitchen wench at the Rock once when he was a youngster.”

Sansa stiffened, and he hurried to add: “Of course, you're nothing like a kitchen wench.”

 

His wife uttered another sob. That was the precise moment when he lost it.

“Sansa, don't be such a sissy. This incident is called “misfortune”, but you're putting too much weight on it. We're married, and we can do in private what we want. This is Kevan's problem, not yours. And now leave and pull yourself together. Our interlude is over, isn't it?”

Sansa sniffled and nodded, but didn't say a word.

“Well. Anyway. Don't wait for me tonight, Sansa. I've still got a lot to do. Off with you.”

 

Unlike Kevan his wife was meek and obeyed at once. No sooner had she left the solar when Tywin threw a dry inkstand at the wall.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some violence in this chapter. I've thought a lot on how many details I should give you and opted against the full dose, even if I could have done it. Though probably the cinema inside your head will come up with some worse pictures on its own. Still, this is a comparatively dark chapter, and if you're sensitive you should proceed with care.

Gods! The shame!

Sansa lay on the big four-poster bed, sobbing. She'd never be able to look Ser Kaven in the face again. Surely, he thought her as bas and as wanton as a whore now. Would he tell his wife? Other people? Gods, Joffrey was surely slapping his thighs in glee, down in the seven hells...

 

She rumpled and worked her cushion. That Tywin had sent her away didn't help anything to make the situation easier for her. He had been so... unresponsive to her situation.

“It's the way he is...” she thought.

She shouldn't have forgotten about his nature, just because he had laid her a few times. Sansa thrashed at the pillow with her hands and wanted the earth to open and to swallow her.

 

A while later, towards the evening, she was so tired from having wept for hours that she decided to call it a day. After all, Tywin had said he wouldn't arrive any time soon, so could doze off just as well. To make sure her slumber would be undisturbed she swallowed some sweetsleep.

The medicine worked. Only in the very early morning hours did she wake up because of her full bladder.

 

When she came back from the privy, Tywin – whose arrival she hadn't noticed at night – sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“The guard outside said it's about 4.30.”

 

Tywin yawned and stretched.

“A short night, even for my standards,” he said.

“You don't want to sleep some more?”

“No Sansa. There's the execution of this rioter today. I'll have to attend it, because it's a public affair. I wouldn't be able to sleep any more.”

 

Sansa gazed at her husband, who was in the process of getting up.

She hesitated, but then, she said slowly: “I suppose it would be good for you, if I were seen at your side.”

Tywin looked over at her as if he wanted to assess her.

“That depends, Sansa. If you can stand the execution, yes. It would be counterproductive, however, if you started to puke or to weep in the process. This specific deadly performance is supposed to be a deterring example for the rabble to prevent them from rioting again.”

 

Sansa glared daggers at her husband, and her shoulders felt as if they had been carved from wood.

“I have watched my father's execution. Nothing today could be worse than that.”

Tywin inclined his head.

“As you say.”

 

Later, Sansa came to rue her decision. She had been stubborn, had wanted to prove herself and had even believed in her statement that nothing could compare to her father's death.

What she hadn't anticipated was how horrible this execution would be in its own way. Granted, she didn't have an emotional link to the man who was dragged onto the scaffold right after sunrise. Yet, there were other things that turned the event into a horrible one for her.

 

To begin with, her father had not wailed. This fey man was different. He was crying and begging for mercy, at least from what could be gleaned in spite of his chattering teeth. Only on this day, however, it was clear from the beginning that he wouldn't be pardoned.

Another aspect was that Lord Eddard's execution hadn't taken long (though in hindsight those moments felt like an eternity in itself). This time, the procedure took much longer. Her husband, clad in his elegant, impressive official garb as the Hand of the King, had given specific orders of what should happen, of how the King's Justice should proceed and of how long it should approximately take.

Before the man's demise, the convict was tortured, and his shrill cries sounded almost inhuman to Sansa's ears. She didn't flinch or cast down her eyes, but she soon felt nauseous of the bloody spectacle unfolding in front of her eyes. Down in the crowd she heard many people retch – and this was quite something, given how jaded the people from King's Landing were when it came to violence. Tywin, however, stood there and oversaw everything, his posture as rigid and cold as if he were made of stone.

 

When the Stranger finally came to claim the doomed soul the carcass was only a bloody, amorphous mass. Afterwards, the spectators dispersed quickly.

Sansa and her husband returned to the Red Keep. Neither of them spoke a word.

No sooner had they reached their private quarters when Sansa ran to the next chamber pot and started to vomit in such violent spasms that she thought she'd spit out her stomach as well. At that point, she was sure she could never eat anything again. Tears were streaming down her cheeks from the efforts of all the puking.

 

Then, she felt a presence next to her: Tywin was kneeling at her side. By the look of it, he was about to take her hair to hold it, but Sansa yanked her head back.

“Don't. Touch. Me,” she sputtered.

He was responsible for the abhorrent slaughter on the scaffold – she couldn't endure his touch for the time being. It was fortunate that Tywin understood her slurred words. He stood up – not angry, luckily, but neither apologetic.

“It had to be done like this for the peace of the realm. And for the safety of Tommen's position.”

On hearing this, it was the first time that Sansa wanted to slap her husband, but she controlled herself and remained silent and unmoving, hunched over the stinking chamberpot.

After a minute or so, Tywin said: “Now that you've overcome the worst part of the shock I have to go back to work. The meeting of the Small Council will start in about half an hour.”

 

It was a mystery for Sansa how he could resume his everyday duties without any problems after such an episode. From the corners of her eyes, she watched his long legs in elegant boots retreat and make for the door. The hinges squeaked, Tywin stepped into the corridor, and the hinges squeaked again. Sansa was alone.

Her immediate reaction was to cry some more. Yet, she fought to get a grasp on herself and trudged over to the washstand to clean her face. Next, she chewed a violet pastille against the sour taste in her mouth.

 

“This is my lot,” she thought. “Bound in marriage to an unfeeling man. How could I ever believe otherwise? Now I've got to lie in the bed I've made. And Arya has right about Tywin all the time. But I... Sandor Clegane would be laughing about my ongoing naivety and stupidity, if he were here; and he'd be in the right about it.”

Sansa shook her head at herself in the mirror of the washstand.

“I'll go and visit Arya. I need to hear somebody else's voice, even if it's an “I told you so” I'll get to hear.”

 

This decision lead Sansa to a new low point, as she had to find out a few minutes later. When she reached her sister's room it was empty, so she asked a chambermaid where Arya was.

The servant looked at her with wide eyes.

“You... you don't know about it, Lady Lannister?” the woman peeped.

“Know what!?” Sansa asked, dread building in her stomach.

“Lady Arya is... gone.”

“Gone!? Where to? Speak!”

The maid twiddled the seam of her apron and couldn't look her in the eyes.

“I... I don't know it first-hand, but I heard someone say she's travelling to Pentos.”

 

Sansa thought her heart missed a beat.

Pentos!? But... that was where Daenaerys Targaryen was with her dragons! Gods, why...?

After a few more moments, it dawned on Sansa: Arya hated Tywin. Had threatened him. And her husband, flinty as he was... oh nonononono, not her last remaining sibling, NOOOOooo!

 

Sansa didn't realize she was turning around. Didn't notice her feet take her to the Hand's solar where her husband was surely preparing for the imminent meeting of the Small Council. The activity of her mind was reduced to instinctive behaviour. She felt like a dead, hollow tree.

 

In front of the solar, she was stopped by a guard, who had clearly learned of his predecessor's fate. Sansa did something then she had never done before: she yelled at the man in armour.

The guard stared at her, thunderstruck. Sansa didn't care one whit and grabbed the door handle. Just at that moment, the door was wrenched open from the inside. Tywin was standing there, alarm in his eyes.  
When he saw that Sansa was unhurt, he grabbed her by the wrist, pulled her into the room and threw the door shut. He folded his arms.

“What is this this madness, woman?”

 

Sansa looked up at him, in his haughty, feline eyes and thought she hated her husband.

She hissed: “Looks like the execution in town today wasn't the only death sentence you had enforced.”

“Seven hells, what are you talking about?”

“Not what. Who. And you know it well enough. Arya.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's good news and bad news. The good ones: I've got a few new ideas for the story and in comparison to the others, this is an extended chapter. The bad ones: this is the last update for "Awakening" before Christmas. There's some real life stuff ahead, so I'm sorry, but I have to pause with two or three of my projects.

Tywin knitted his eyebrows. So this was what came on top of the dungheap of events that had started with Kevan discovering them engaged in intimacies. It all felt as if everything had gone downhill from thence.

 

“If you want to imply I'd have sent Arya away on a dangerous mission to make sure she dies you're mistaken, Sansa. It was your sister who addressed me and who wanted to go to keep you safe. It was her idea. Besides, I've got the feeling she'd have escaped anyway to do this. You know how stubborn she is, and how clever. If anything, I could only help by making sure she'd have a good beginning of her journey, and a safe passage.”

 

Tywin thought that he had never seen Sansa look like a boiling kettle before and wondered, if he wasn't the only one who was getting affected by this marriage.

Sansa huffed: “And you didn't find it in you to talk to me about Arya's plans?”

“No.”

His clipped answer caused her to stand there, rigid, and to look as if he had hit her. Next, she turned around with a pallid face and made for the door.

It dawned on Tywin that he could forget his marriage, if he didn't add a word or two now. With a few long strides he reached his wife and grabbed her wrist in an iron clasp.

“Look at me, Sansa.”

 

Her blue eyes were void of emotions and her look resembled a pointed pole that was driven into him. Tywin wondered when it last been so hard for him to talk to someone. Or when he had last tried to explain and to justify his behaviour. He used to give orders, and people would obey or betray him, simple as that. They didn't expect him to reason with them.

 

“Sansa, these last two days haven't been good ones. Had I tried to talk to you it wouldn't have helped our cause.”

“OUR cause, Tywin? We don't have a cause. An accident brought us together in this marriage, nothing more.”

That sparked off the Lion of Lannister's ire, and before he knew what he was saying, he spat: “And there I thought for a few days you'd feel what I do.”

Sansa's eyebrows rose, and her eyes widened.

“You can feel?”

The worst was that her question didn't even sound sarcastic. Tywin stiffened and didn't know whether he wanted to slap his wife or himself.

“The last time I looked into a mirror my eyes were green, which means I'm no unfeeling wight. Do you really think I'd send your closest relative away, now that you are a Lannister?”

 

Something about that sentence had been very wrong, Tywin found out at once, because Sansa said: “You mean – like your sister? Like Tyrion? Like Cersei? Probably like Kevan? I mean – I don't know what your punishment for his recent misstep has been; I can only guess it must have been harsh, given the way you are.”

 

A moment later, Tywin had pressed Sansa against the next wall and had trapped her body with his arms. He didn't feel inclined to talk about his relatives, his brother least of all.

 

“Don't change the topic, wife. You want to know why I allowed Arya to leave and why I didn't talk to you? All right: our joint cause – hers, yours and mine – is to fend off a danger that could bring down the realm and, most of all, both the Lannisters and the Starks. And the Baratheons, which includes Tommen and Myrcella as well. I'm talking of Daenaerys Targaryen. The dragon woman would want all our heads on spikes and our bodies as dragon snacks because of what our families have done to the Targaryens in the past. Arya doesn't care about anyone but you, but that feeling alone was strong enough to offer me – the one she focuses most of her hatred on – to assassinate Daenerys. And you know she has killed before, don't you? Besides, she's a survivor and she's got a strong motivation to stay alive: to kill ME.”

 

There was pain in Sansa's look now, but at least her eyes didn't look lifeless any longer.

“It may be true that Arya was forced to kill in the past. And yet: why didn't you tell me?”

Tywin snorted.

“And how would it have helped, Sansa? You were already upset about other things, and the only consequence of knowing about this would have been that you'd have run to your sister. You'd have had a major argument that wouldn't have changed anything and that would only have made matters between the two of you worse.”

 

Sansa looked to the ground, and her body sagged. Slowly, Tywin's anger dissipated, and the tension left his body. He lowered his arms and flexed his muscles.

Then, Sansa looked up again, with dark, big, teary eyes, and said: “Looks like I've had this major argument with you instead – and as if things had deteriorated between us. What do you say: is it worth the price?”

 

This time, it was as if the invisible pointed pole was driven even deeper into Tywin's core. He hadn't felt anything as dolorous since Joanna had died.

“If you allow our marriage not only to become worse, but also to improve again, Sansa.”

His young wife looked to the side and took a deep breath, almost a sigh, but didn't give him an answer. It was obvious she didn't have one.

For a moment, her mouth twitched a little, but she didn't dare to do speak up. Deep down, Tywin had an inkling what was going through her head and kept silent. He gazed down at her lips, remembered what they felt and tasted like, and his heartbeat quickened; yet, he was too old, too experienced, and knew better than to give in to a whim.

 

“May I leave now, Tywin?”

Her voice was tiny.

He shrugged.

“Sure.”

Sansa nodded and left with silent steps.

Tywin wrinkled his brow. Puzzled, he looked at his hands. They were shaking.

 

Cursing under his breath, he walked back to his desk. Instead of returning to his most immediate tasks he grabbed the report of a spy he had received some hours prior. He read the lines penned down in shorthand style once again.

 

_“Ser Kevan, after meeting with Lord Hand. Ser Kevan's bedroom. Sound report, no peephole. Direct speech following.”_

 

Tywin rubbed his nose bridge and went on reading.

 

_“Hey, who are YOU?_

_(Spitting and meowing.)_

_I think I've heard of you. You're the old monster cat who stole Tywin his meat from the table once. How did you get into my room?_

_(More angry cat sounds.)_

_Can't understand you, little rugged beast. But then again, I can't even understand my brother these days. The way he's behaving. I don't know, it wouldn't have been much of a thing, if he had married a woman a decade ago or two – but now... and this Stark girl of all people... He's totally smitten. Despite the whopping age difference. Worse like father. I don't get it. Can't remember to have seen him like that since his early days with Joanna._

_(Cat growl.)_

_Oh, I see what you want. You've tried to reach that basket with the salami. What a pity it's locked. Damn, you've nearly clawed your way through the wicker-work!_

_(Cat screeching.)_

_Ouch! Do that again, and I'll draw my sword! You're in as foul a mood as Tywin up in his solar. Fuck, and I wanted to raise the issue about our sister._

_(Cat wailing.)_

_Pfft! Stop howling. You should have seen Genna. She was weeping her heart out about her son. I've never seen her like that. She's so strong; couldn't imagine to ever see her so heart-broken. Otherwise, I'd have never lost control and burst into Tywin's solar like that._

_(Hissing.)_

_Gods, the shame! I've heard of Joffrey humiliating and manhandling Sansa, but this! This! Poor girl – hasn't she been through enough yet? Forcing her onto her knees for such a task! Really, I don't understand my brother any more. It's not as if I don't want to support the family. I'd do anything, and I'd never want to cause the Lannisters harm. But now, I'll be the next one on the list for getting punished._

_(More cat sounds.)_

_What!?_

_You don't have a wife and children to take care of, have you? Out with you now! Out! OUT!_

_(Sounds of door and angry cat, door closed shut again.)_

_Oh Dorna, Dorna...”_

 

Tywin drummed with his fingers on the desk – for various reasons. How had it become possible for everything to become such a mess?

He hadn't decided yet how to react and how to deal with Kevan. It was true that his brother might have had good intentions, and he'd certainly need him in the future. Still... something had to happen.

 

Tywin grabbed another message that had something to do with his family. The High Sparrow had reproved him for having taken Sansa's maidenhood before the wedding, but hadn't been able to turn this point into an advantage, because of Tywin's swift marriage. Jaime's earlier wedding and his son's and daughter's removal from court had had the same effect.

Now, the religious leader had dug deeper. The man intended to uncover Tommen's true parentage, but had been unable to gather any proof and had just heard some gossip. It was clear that the High Sparrow was preparing to strike, but Tywin's combined forces of the Gold Cloaks, the City Guard and of gnawing winter had been able to push back the threat of the Faith Militant. Come spring, and the sticklers of the Seven-pointed Star would try to rise again.

The problem was now that Kevan's son Lancel was playing into the hands of the religious zealots: he had been seen whoring around, and as a consequence, there were also some sick rumours about him and Cersei on the rise. Measures had to be taken – and likely, Kevan would understand them as some sort of punishment.

Tywin scratched the nape of his neck.

Lancel had to marry at once, a humble girl from the landed gentry in the Westerlands, below his status; and he'd have to leave the capital at once, too. No splendid career for the lad, but it was likely still better than the Wall. And this way, the Faith wouldn't be able to sink its claws into the boy – and into them – either.

 

Tywin decided to go and meet Kevan at once. He felt he needed some movement anyway.

Then, he thought back to his argument with Sansa. Perhaps, he should explain to his brother what had caused him to reach his decision. There was no need to add fuel to the flames.

 

~#~#~#~#~

 

The next days turned out to remain difficult for Tywin. His brother had been depressed, but hadn't said much to his news. Tywin's reasons for his plans considering Lancel had been sound enough.

 

The rift between the Old Lion and Sansa had not been quite as deep as before, didn't look irrevocable any longer, but there was still some distance between them. Intimacies were out of the question since he preferred his wife's acceptance.

Ever since he had read Kevan rambling about the age gap Tywin had a strange feeling. Was Sansa starting to see this difference as well? He didn't truly believe it to be the case, but the thought kept nagging at his mind.

 

Besides, his wife had started to have nightmares. When she had lashed out at him in her sleep for the first time he had thought he was being attacked – until she had apologized with tears in her eyes. He hadn't been able to go back to sleep for a while afterwards, and he had noticed how Sansa had started to twitch like an animal in her slumber.

That had been followed by little whining sounds and by gasps: “No! Lady... Joffrey, no Father, no... not him... mercy...”

Had his grandson not been long dead already Tywin would have wanted to throttle him to death for his stupidity. Lacking this option, he had taken hold of his wife. It had been the first gentle touch she had accepted from him since their quarrel. After some minutes, he had placed a kiss on her eyebrow, and when she hadn't objected he had continued with her mouth. They had both been on guard and careful.

It had taken some time, but then, he had felt Sansa's fingers play with his sideburns. It had felt as if a ton had been lifted off his chest. At the same, Tywin had not hazarded the fragile moment by becoming more passionate. It had been enough for him to know that his wife wasn't lost to him.

His patience had been tested, though, when Sansa had pulled her feet – which had stuck out – under the blanked and had pressed them against his own ones.

He had flinched and growled: “Fuck, woman, are you sure you haven't imported some blocks of ice from the Wall?”

“Keep them warm and find out for yourself.”

 

Another sentence that had told him Sansa wasn't the frightened little girl she had been in the past. Tywin had started to ask himself in that moment, if he could groom her so she'd be able to become his political confidante.

The next day, they had read and talked about a few missives together. True, Sansa was naïve and soft-hearted, but he wasn't blind and didn't mistake this for a lack of intelligence. Quite the contrary. It would take some time, but Sansa had shown some signs of being able to survive the Game of Thrones, and of becoming a self-effacing, but apt player. This would be crucial for the years to come when he wouldn't be there to keep her safe any more. Her... and perhaps their future children.

 

After about a week, there were two ravens.

In a few lines, Tyrion reported to him that his voyage towards Oldtown was going well, despite the winter weather, and he sent Sansa some greetings.

The other message came from the Elder Brother. Cersei's voyage to the Quiet Isle was nowhere near as smooth. By the looks of it, his daughter was suffering from the fact that she didn't get alcohol any more, and she was in the foulest possible mood – as long as she wasn't trying to seduce the monk and his companions in order to manipulate them.

On reading this, Tywin palmed his face. This was much, much worse than Kevan encountering him and Sansa during a blow job. Hopefully, no spy had read the letter...

 

Tywin felt the need to work off his frustration. As the Hand of the king, he had had no time to train lately, and he considered it a good moment to catch up with his exercises after having recovered from the fever. Thus, he sent Sansa a short note that he wouldn't take his lunch in the solar, but in the training barracks.

 

He had just put on light armour and had started to warm up when he noticed his wife enter the hall. His eyes widened. What was she doing here? The other men were looking into her direction as well. Fuck, he needed a sparring partner, not a victim who let him win in order to be able to impress Sansa.

So he strutted over to a hedge knight, Ser Dyman, who was working for Lord Tarly. He was a man who had arrived at the Red Keep recently and who would soon be on his way back. Ser Dyman was tall, young and good-looking, but as Tarly's man he'd surely be unrelenting and wouldn't back away from Tywin because of his name or status. They greeted each other and started to fight.

 

Soon enough, the Old Lion realized he really needed to train more, because his opponent wasn't much weaker than him. He could have bested the knight nevertheless, but for some reason, Tywin wasn't keen on winning. Instead, he allowed Ser Dyman to drive him back, though not without some counterstrikes here and there.

From the corners of his eyes, Tywin kept track of Sansa's reactions, of whether she'd look at the handsome knight.

 

He needn't have feared a thing: Sansa started to press a fist on her mouth and her eyes were wide with fear as soon as he was beset by heavy blows. The problem was that Tywin was distracted by her... and wham! he was hit on the chin with a shield and blacked out for a few seconds.

 

The first thing he noticed when he lifted his head again was that another knight was holding a crying and kicking Sansa back from running into the training place. This was good – no husband wanted to be fussed over by a worried wife in front of other fighters. Besides, he couldn't help but compare her behaviour with Arya when the little hellion had tried to attack him after his first night with Sansa. By the looks of it, there were some unexpected similarities between the two siblings. In an odd way, Tywin started to feel smug, although he had lost the duel.

 

Tywin touched his jaws to check whether all his teeth were still in place, and then he called: “Calm down, woman. I'm all right. Off with you now.”

Sansa gave up fighting. Her gaze was intense, but she didn't question him in front of his men, turned around and left. Tywin considered “sparring” with her later.

 

Then, his thoughts returned to his opponent. He stood up and brushed some sand off his armour.

“You're good, Ser Dyman. I challenge you for a return fight.”

The other one inclined his head to accept Tywin's chance to get even. It was as sure as ten stags buy a dragon that the Lord Hand would prove now that he was neither too old nor too unfit to beat a foe to a pulp.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly recovering from lots of real life stress, and there will be some more until the end of January, but now I can squeeze in an occasional update.  
> Not as regularly as I'd like it to happen, but here we are, and it's better than nothing. :-) Wishing you all fantastic holidays!

Sansa was more thrilled than she'd ever expected she could be when she was allowed to join her husband in the solar over the next weeks to debate the matters of the realm. It gave her a feeling of being respected as someone who had a value of its own, not just as a mare for breeding or because of her claim to Winterfell. At the same time, one arching of Tywin's eyebrow or the slight curl of a lip told her when he didn't approve of what she was doing or saying – and by the look of it, she still had to learn a lot.

 

Yet, there were also situations when his reasoning didn't convince her, for example when it came to the public execution of a woman who had stolen a ham.

“Tywin, she is a poor woman and she and her children were starving.”

“I can send the two boys to the Wall and the two girls to an orphanage – but I can do no such thing with the mother, and I cannot allow her behaviour to become an example for others to do the same. It would spread like wildfire. Other families are starving, too.”

Sansa could understand his line of argumentation from a logical point of view, but she still didn't support her husband.

“There must be another option. Sending the boys northwards equals a death sentence, too, you know it well. Can't you send the woman and her children into exile?”

“Where to? The Dornish are already dealing with thousands upon thousands of regular refugees, more than they can handle. And I won't waste a good ship with a good crew to send her across the Narrow Sea with its winter storms. Besides, such a policy wouldn't be a deterrent for the rabble; quite the contrary, it would be enticing for them to do the same to be able to turn their backs on the Seven Kingdoms. It would all end in a revolution that could well cost us our heads. No, there is no other way.”

“That's what you may think, Tywin, but I cannot share your opinion.”

That she dared to voice her objections freely earned Sansa a strange look. Her husband was as determined about the execution as ever, but there was a brightness in his eyes she couldn't quite understand. Well, it was nowhere near to his typical ire; that much she could tell.

 

That night, they didn't sleep with each other, but on many other days and nights they returned to their wedded life intimacies. In comparison to the time before Arya had left for Essos, however, they were less wild. As if they were still on guard around each other.

The consequence was that their tumbles took longer, which was satisfactory in its own right. Sansa asked herself why Tywin, as a greedy Lannister, was so intent on pleasuring her; she'd have never guessed that he'd be like that in bed. Well, all right, before their marriage she hadn't even acknowledged him to be a sexual entity to begin with, but it still struck her as odd that he'd consider it the most delicious dessert after lunch to eat her out on his desk.

It only started to make sense for her when she learned that Tywin loved to control her lust. As an experienced man he knew how to drive her crazy without giving her the relief she needed. His tongue often whipped her to the sweet edge several times, until she wasn't able to utter any coherent words any more and tears were streaming down her cheeks. In bed, when they were naked he'd suckle her nipples like mad, once he had found out he could bring her close to a peak in this way, too. Then, he'd withdraw his mouth to torture her even more... and in the end, he would finally take her with slow, controlled thrusts until she'd burst apart with so much bottled-up force breaking free that she thought the shards of her essence would be scattered all over the Red Keep.

Sometimes, however, he entered her from behind, and it wasn't as if he was keen on climaxing, and that was confusing, to say the least. On those occasions, he wouldn't move much, just enough for his member to remain hard. She'd lean against him, and they'd simply... purr in contentment. That was all. And even when Tywin went limp again they'd stay in their position for much longer. It took Sansa weeks to grasp that this was her husband's way of cuddling.

 

There were also days when Tywin rose long before sunrise and she didn't see him again until long after midnight. He had been a lonely lion for so long that Sansa wasn't surprised he needed to keep himself aloof from time to time.

Even so, the court came to notice their match was turning into more than a merely tactical one.

It was during the feast after a raven from Oldtown had announced the beginning of spring when Petyr Baelish, who had been uncommunicative towards her since her wedding night, addressed her with a smile: “Lady Sansa, I'm glad to see you're doing so well. Wedded life is becoming you.”

Sansa smiled back at the man, and though she expected a stinging comment to follow, she saw no necessity not to be impolite when she answered: “Thank you, Lord Baelish. I am indeed a happy woman.”

The man with the goatee looked towards the end of the hall where Lord Tywin was just conferring with his borther.

“Lady Sansa, I must confess people are wondering how you managed to leave such an impression on the Lord Hand. They've even found a new nickname for you.”

“Oh, so I'm not the Hour Queen any more?” Sansa asked in a light, only mildly-interested tone.

Lord Petyr coughed and said: “Indeed. I hope you will forgive me my frankness. The courtiers have started to call you “Queen Glove”.”

 

It was good that Tywin had groomed her well – she simply arched an eyebrow like he did on so many occasions. Now that she was married she could also understand the lewd overtones, but she chose not to react to them. Instead, she pointed with her chin at her husband.

“A glove may look soft, but I hope the people won't forget that the fist inside is still as steely as ever. Otherwise, they might find themselves all too easily in a – how shall I put it? – deprecating situation.”

Lord Petyr uttered a chuckle that sounded a bit rushed.

“Let me assure you I don't think anyone will underestimate either you or your husband.”

Sansa nodded and showed the short man a dazzling smile.

“Good, Lord Baelish, very good.”


	45. Chapter 45

He was getting as pathetic as his sire, Lord Tytos. Tywin cursed himself. This woman who had become his wife... he couldn't get enough of her. Damn, he was an elderly man, not a squire lusting after his first wench. Oh, but how he lusted after Sansa!

To make her writhe under either his cock, his hands or his mouth was the most incredible thing. By the gods, he wasn't a romantic one, but even he could see her ecstatic arousal possessed a unique beauty. And the way she smelled and tasted and felt... addictive, no less.

Though it wasn't only the physical intimacy they shared, mind-blowing as it was. Tywin had started to entrust her with certain aspects of his life he'd only have discussed with Kevan in the past.

 

The Lord of Lannister had never overindulged in drink, food or sex, unlike that late, fat Baratheon fool on the throne. Now, however, Tywin knew he was overindulging. In the bliss caused by his wife. She was able to elicit feelings within him he had no names for.

Never before had he been afraid – but now he was. One morning, he had woken up with the feeling of losing control. It angered him, even made him mad... but for once, he didn't know what to do. Another novelty.

“I should send her away,” he thought from time to time.

But the next moment, Sansa would smile at him or kiss him or even open her legs for him... and he'd forget everything else.

 

If Sansa was able to unsettle a strong, stern man like him – what could she possibly do to other people? Cersei had underrated her, had thought the Stark girl stupid. As a consequence, he had done the same. To a lesser extent, granted, but he had not realized just how dangerous...

He shook his head.

 

Soft, delicate arms went around his middle.

“Tywin, is everything all right?”

“Yes, Sansa.”

She kissed the nape of his neck. Hot shivers licked up his spine, and he took a deep breath. Sansa was always kissing him. Everywhere on his body. As soon as nobody was looking and on whatever spot of him that was accessible.

Why on earth did she do that? Tywin remembered that he had kissed Joanna quite a bit, especially at the beginning, but they had both been proud, independent lions and had not clung to each other. Besides, he was pretty sure that he had many merits – but being kiss-worthy wasn't among them.

 

No, Sansa was different. Their relationship was different.

Tywin pinched the ridge of his nose. A dainty hand crept under his tunic and wandered through his greying chest hair. His heartbeat accelerated. Once again. This wasn't normal, was it?

“Obsession.”

The word crossed his mind, and not for the first time.

 

He turned around in in his wife's arms, inclined his head and kissed her back. Next, he pointed at a message on his desk.

“Jaime and Brienne. They've got a little boy. They're calling him Gerion. He's lively and healthy.”

Sansa squealed in delight and clapped her hands... only to become serious again moments later, even sad.

Despite all their tumbles she wasn't pregnant yet. Ever since Tywin had learned Brienne was with child and in the process of saving House Lannister he had been more relaxed about the topic of having a child with Sansa; and with the birth of this Gerion things had become even less pressing for him.

However, Tywin knew his wife wanted to have a baby – and not even for dynastic reasons. Worse than that, she put herself under pressure, thought it was her own fault, feared she was barren after that horrible fever they both had survived.

 

To distract Sansa, he showed her another piece of paper that had arrived via raven. He himself hated Tyrion, yes, but he knew Sansa's stance far milder.

“Guess who's having a good time in Oldtown.”

As he had thought, Sansa was interested at once.

“Tyrion is doing well?”

Tywin snorted.

“I'm convinced his cock will rot off at some point. Do you know what he's writing? Looks like he's fallen in love with a Hightower bastard, or so he claims. Pff, as if he knew a thing about true love.”

Sansa looked up at him with her big, blue eyes.

“And you're such an expert about love?”

 

Tywin stiffened.

“I'm not claiming to be an expert, but I'm not clueless either – in contrast to Tyrion.”

Sansa looked up at him for another long moment. When he remained silent, she lowered her gaze, gave him a sad little pat on his belly, turned and left without another word.

 

Tywin's world started to spin and he had to sit down. For a long time, there was an incoherent buzz in his mind.

He thought of Joanna again. Then of Sansa. Joanna. Sansa.

They were so different.

It took him another hour or so until he came up with a decision. If there was one thing in his life he had never shrunk back from it was a confrontation that could either defeat him or bring him a great victory. If he had learned one thing it was that you had to risk something. Once he had reached that conclusion, he rose from his desk chair and left his solar.

 

He found Sansa in the sept, kneeling in front of the statue of the Mother. Well, it was just as good a place to carry out what he had in mind than any other one.

With only the tiniest hint of hesitation Tywin knelt beside his wife. His ageing knees were not happy about the procedure. He he didn't care.

Confused, Sansa shot him a side glance, but continued her silent prayer. For roughly about a minute, they simply knelt side by side.

Then, Tywin pulled himself together, leaned over to Sansa and murmured into her ear: “I love you. What about you?”


	46. Chapter 46

Sansa heard her husband's whisper, but it took her another second to grasp the meaning of the words. Once she did, she nearly fell off the little bank she had been kneeling on. Her head whipped around, and she gaped at him open-mouthed. Her heart hammered away in her chest and she blinked.

Tywin's face was like chiselled marble, and the look of his green-golden eyes pierced her.

He had not... he had not said... or had he? Surely, she must have misunderstood his words?

 

Back in the solar, there had been a moment when she had hoped he might say these words, she longed for him to utter them, but when he had remained silent she had known it would be too much to expect anything as romantic as this to ever escape his lips. The realisation had stung, so she had come here to pray for a baby that would love her.

And now, Tywin was right next to her – in a sept, a place he usually only frequented for strategic purposes. When custom or necessity dictated a king's Hand should be here.

 

Sansa's mind was a maelstrom of fragments of thoughts and emotions. No words would come to her mouth in that very moment.

 

Lord Tywin stood up again with wooden movements. His jaws were working.

“I guess I have understood. And I guess it's to be expected,” he said. His voice was sharp. Cold. “You will excuse me now, my lady.”

Next, he turned on his heels and stalked away.

 

With staggering movements, Sansa got to her feet as well, tried to follow her husband and squeaked: “Tywin...”

Her husband pivoted around and spat: “Leave. Me. Be.”

So vicious did he sound that Sansa stopped dead. Meanwhile, the Lord of Lannister resumed his long strides and left.

 

Only then did it dawn on her she had NOT misunderstood him. Lord Tywin... he was in love with her! True, she had hoped he might develop deeper feelings for her over time – as she did for him, against better wisdom – and the passion between them had indicated things had taken a positive turn; but to have it confirmed! Oh!

At the same time, she realised what her own reaction to his love declaration must have looked like – and Tywin had drawn the wrong conclusion. Sansa pressed her hands onto her mouth to stifle a squeal. The next second, her feet started to move; to run of their own accord.

 

As quickly as her skirts and her slippers allowed it she dashed back towards the Tower of the Hand, and for once, she didn't care one whit if she looked like a lady. Tywin loved her! She had to reach him, had to correct him, had to tell him she felt the same for him. Sure, he was angry with her for her reaction, but it was impossible not to run after him, even if it meant he might slap her for disobeying him.

 

Sansa had nearly reached the Tower of the Hand when she stopped, panting. Weird. She should have caught up with him by now, shouldn't she? Sansa couldn't imagine Tywin had taken to sprinting once he had left her vision. So why hadn't she met him on her way?

“He has taken a different direction!” she realised.

 

But where could he have gone? The meeting room of the Small Council? No. The daily gathering was already over.

Was he visiting Tommen?

“In his state, he'd never go to Tommen, and even less so with Margaery at the boy's side. Perhaps... yes, the training barracks! He'll be frustrated and will be in need of letting off steam.”

 

However, Sansa soon found out she was wrong: when she reached the inner yard all she saw was Tywin's back. He was sitting atop his elegant steed and was galloping across the drawbridge at a speed that wasn't advisable within the boundaries of the keep.

“Tywin!” she called after him – but either he didn't hear her or didn't want to do so.

Sansa was incredulous, but then, she quickly gathered her wits. She had to look and to behave like a lady. Her wild chase through the fortress had already been bad enough.

“Sooner or later, he'll come back. And then, we can still talk and reconcile.”

That was what Sansa tried to tell herself while feeling miserable.

 

The problem was that Tywin took his sweet time and remained absent. Around midnight, Sansa lay back on her bed, but kept her dress on. She silenced her growing nervousness with the thought that her husband was always late and rarely made it to their chambers before twelve o'clock. Yet, try as she might, she was getting worried.

Nevertheless, she must have fallen asleep, for she winced and shot up in bed when the bedroom door crashed open.

BANG.

Tywin was standing in the door frame. With bloodshot eyes. Reeling. His apparel in disarray. In short: he was dead drunk.

Sansa squeaked and couldn't believe it. Never before had she seen the rigid, upright Lord of Lannister in such a state. In the only other previous state of intoxication Tywin had been different; her recollection of that night crucial was fragmented, yes, but that much Sansa could tell.

 

“Shtill awake, Shansha? Dutshiful wife. Go back to shleep,” Tywin slurred, stumbled to his side of the bed, fell forward onto the mattress without even putting off his boots... and started to snore.

 

Sansa couldn't believe her eyes. What on earth...!?

She got up and inspected her sleeping husband. After a moment, she tried to pull off his boots. It took a while until she was successful. It would have been easier if she had called a guard, but she knew how proud her husband was and that he wouldn't want anyone to see him in such an inebriated state under normal circumstances. Gossip would already be bad enough in the Red Keep without any further spectacle.

“I should keep dressed, in case he gets sick or has to go to the privy. He might need my help.”

 

When Tywin kept snoring peacefully Sansa slowly started to relax, though her heart felt like a lead ingot. She snuggled up under the blanket and allowed herself to go back to sleep.

 

In retrospect, she assumed it would have been better to stay awake, or to have left Tywin with his boots on, but then again, nobody could have anticipated what that night was till holding in store for them... and for the rest of Westeros.

Around the hour of the wolf came the dragons.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for this year. I wish you all a wonderful start into 2015 and I apologise for yet another cliffhanger...

At first, there was a dark roar, accompanied by the ground starting to quiver. Sansa awoke and was confused. Was this an earthquake? She thought she was hearing distant screams.

Then, there was another reverberating roar, and the ground started to shake again. Tywin didn't react at all.

“What on earth...?” Sansa wondered and darted to the door, wrenched it open and asked the nervous guards: “What's going on?”

The guard on the left side answered: “It's unclear, Lady Lannister, but it must be some sort of attack. Giles down the corridor is gone to get some news.”

Another roar, the ground quivered a third time, and the glass of a window cracked.

 

Sansa's hand flew to her mouth. A heartbeat later, a third goldcloak appeared with long strides and wide eyes, accompanied by an equally upset Ser Kevan.

“Dragons!” the guard shouted. “It's three of them! And there are foreign soldiers, too. Many of them.”

Sansa uttered a squeal.

“Where's Ty?” Kevan wanted to know.

Sansa tried to get a grip on herself, ignored her embarrassment about the past cock-sucking episode, and answered (not caring any more whether other people heard her): “My lord husband won't be able to do a thing. He's passed out from alcohol.”

“What!?” Kevan called in shocked disbelief.

 

Sansa's mind worked at top speed now.

“Tywin discussed a possible dragon attack with me only two days ago and would have wanted to bring it up in the Small Council soon.”

Kevan was all eyes and ears. He didn't need to know that their talk had been very general and had contained no details.

“What did he say, Lady Sansa?”

“Can we defend the castle? Can we fight the dragons?”

“No.”

 

Sansa nodded. Exactly as expected.

“The castle population must seek refuge underground. The dragons will try to burn the towers, or strategic parts of the keep, but they won't get as far as the underground corridors. There are also secret ways out, though it may take time to find them. The gold cloaks must bring along as many torches and candles as possible.”

Another roar and more dragon fire. Followed by more panicky screams.

 

“What else?” Kevan demanded to know.

“The King,” Sansa said.

“Yes, what about him?” asked her goodbrother.

Sansa went on: “He and the queen must be smuggled out of the castle. Ser Loras will want to save his sister. He shall do it. There's a ship in the harbour bound for Essos. Sandor Clegane – he's fighting for a mercenary army called “Company of the Rose” now. Ser Loras shall take Tommen to Clegane. He'll teach the boy everything he needs to know to survive.”

 

Ser Kevan was confused.

“The Hound has abandoned the Lannisters. What makes you believe he'd take care of Tommen?”

Sansa said: “Wait!”

She dashed into the bedroom, fumbled on her jewellery case and took out a silver pendant in the shape of a little bird. Then, she ran back to Ser Kevan.

“Sandor Clegane will help him anyway, I think, but Ser Loras must make sure he'll get this token. No time to explain any details.”

 

The next dragon attack proved the necessity to act at once and caused more windows to burst.

Ser Kevan nodded and had only one last question: “What about you and Tywin?”

Sansa breathed in.

“I'll try to wake him. We'll have to see. Whatever may happen – I'll not leave him.”

Her goodbrother blinked.

Then, he said: “I underestimated you. Maybe we all did. You're a good woman.”

And with those words he clicked his heels together, spun around and hurried to the royal quarters, together with the other goldcloaks.

 

Another dragon attack caused the walls to tremble. Well, Sansa was trembling as well.

She turned and felt a great burden on the shoulder. Tywin hadn't even moved and was still snoring.

Sansa walked over to him, grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to shake him awake. Her husband growled and protested, but didn't wake up. Sansa applied some more force and yelled at him. She was already considering splashing some cold water on him...

...when Tywin started to kick and to thrash around in his stupor. A hand hit her in just the wrong angle, caused her to stumble. She fell against the headboard and banged her head. The world around her turned dark.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ice bucket challenge à la Tywin.

Somebody was grabbing his shoulders roughly, and Tywin growled and kicked.

His arms were pressed onto his back. With his face buried in cushions, blanket and mattress, he could barely breathe, so he tried to fight against the forceful grip on instinct.

 

Something was wrong. So foul it was stinking to the heavens. Yet, the problem was that his head felt as if it was right under the big bell from Baelor's sept and somebody was striking it with a massive tongue. It prevented him from thinking. The pain was incredible and had he not been lying down he would have been reeling.

As things were, Tywin had only one alternative: he vomited. Which was a horrible mess, because he couldn't avoid his own sour sputum. He'd have cursed, had he been able to do so, but he only managed to utter some gargling noises.

 

“And this old, filthy man is HIM? I can't believe it,” he heard a young woman's voice say, but it wasn't Sansa's.

A cold shiver ran down Tywin's spine.

Sansa! Where was she? Was she safe? What had happened?

He thought he had never been so close to panic, apart from the moment when the maesters had told him Joanna was about to die.

 

“Yes, this is him, khaleesi, though I must say I've never seen him in such a deplorable state.”

Why... he knew this man's voice... Ser Barristan! The old, dismissed leader of the King's Guard! And 'khaleesi'? Fuck, this meant...

“Throw him into a cell. With a washing basin. Give him some fresh clothes, but only simple garb. That will be enough for where I want to see him again.”

The voice had a foreign accent, Tywin noticed, but he didn't get any further, because he was feeling even sicker now. Sansa hadn't been mentioned. Neither had been Tommen. Where were they? Safe? D... – no, they weren't dead. They weren't! They couldn't!

 

When various strong hands grabbed him and hurled him off his bed and to the ground he sputtered , gasped for air and wiped his face.

The woman had left again, but there were four other men in the room, Tywin noticed in the short moment before he had to squeeze his eyes shut because of the searing pain in his head – and three of the men looked like foreigners.

 

“Selmy!” Tywin managed to croak.

He heard Ser Barristan answer: “So you haven't forgotten me, Lord Lannister – unlike your good-for-nothing grandson. I fear I don't have the time for a proper conversation now, because I've got to organise Queen Daenaerys's coming into power, and I have to make sure there's no opposition either in the Red Keep or in King's Landing.”

 

With those words, the old knight strutted out of the room.

“Selmy!” Tywin called after him. “Where's Sansa?”

Ser Barristan didn't answer.

Instead, one of the foreigners – a bastard with a blue beard – grinned and asked: “Sansa pretty redhead? Little bed pussy for grandfather lion?”

Tywin growled. He would have roared, had his headache not been so intense.

“That woman is my wife! Don't you dare harm a hair on her head! Where is she? What has happened to her?”

Bluebeard chuckled.

“Redhead dead. Or as good as.”

 

Tywin gaped. Then he did roar, headache notwithstanding. The next moment, his legs gave way, and he puked a second time.

One of the other men swore in a language he didn't know – but Tywin didn't care one whit.

 

He barely noticed the men press his face into a piece of cloth so as to wipe off the worst of the dirt. Neither did he pay attention to the men dragging him downstairs to the cells. He felt as if he were in a haze. The state of the castle? Whether the walls were blackened or not, whether there were dead bodies in the corridors or not – it didn't matter.

Tywin's mind was reduced to one single thought: they were lying – Sansa couldn't be dead!

 

Further down in the dungeons, he was stripped naked, and a jailer splashed a bucked of ice cold water onto him.

Against his will, Tywin came back to his senses, at least to some extent. The jailer handed him a roughspun tunic and fitting trousers.

“The clothes of a fey man,” the Lord of Lannister thought.

It made sense. Of course, Daenaerys Targaryen would want to see him dead. Her presence showed him that Arya Stark had not been successful with her task of assassinating the woman in question. Fuck.

Tywin remembered Bluebeard's words: “Redhead dead. Or as good as.”

He understood now. Gods. Sansa was in the process of getting executed! It was as if a shard of dragon glass was boring right into him.

 

Moments later, it took three grown men to hold Tywin down and to bind and to gag him in such a way that he couldn't fight them any more, yet, even then, still he was wriggling and frothing. Finally, somebody drew a cape over his face.

 

Tywin realised he was lifted up and carried elsewhere. It took the porters quite a while to get him to where they wanted to put him. He was laid onto a hard surface.

There was a whinny to be heard, and the next moment, there was a jolt. So this was a cart and he was getting transported to another place.

 

Having been King Aerys's Hand for so long, Tywin knew the capital as well as anyone, and after a while he could guess where they were going.

He was by no means a coward, but his heart sank into his boots... though it was rather on Sansa's behalf than on his own one: the cart's destination was the old Dragon Pit.


	49. Chapter 49

Strong hands carried Tywin to another place and bound him to a pole. However, from the course the people had taken he assumed he wasn't in the middle of the pit. Yet.

The cape and the gag were taken away, and the Lord of Lannister had to blink against the light after all the time in darkness. That he was still suffering from his hangover didn't make things any better.

 

“So here we are,” the young, female voice that belonged to Daenaerys Targaryen said.

Tywin looked at her and could see a little better. He realised he was in the royal box of the dragon pit. The new queen looked every inch the way a Targaryen should: beautiful, with silvery hair and purple eyes. There was also an air of steel about her, which was only fitting, given the way she had fought herself back to power.

 

“Yes, here we are. And I presume you're intent on taking revenge,” Tywin rasped, his throat dry.

Daenaerys inclined her head and answered: “I wouldn't call it revenge. I'm going to punish those who betrayed my family.”

“Your family betrayed the Seven Kingdoms. King Aerys was mad and tortured his subjects – and yet, I served him faithfully for twenty years. He lusted after my first wife. He took my heir for his King's Guard – and still I did my best to serve the realm for as long as I could.”

Daenaerys snorted.

“Yes, you suffered a lot for Westeros. Let me think of it: your son killed the king – my father – so your grandsons could ascend the Iron Throne instead. Usurpers, like Robert Baratheon. From my point of view you're a turncloak.”

 

Tywin wanted to respond to her words, but a sound caught his attention and he looked towards the middle of the dragon pit. He froze. It was the first moment in his life that he understood how Brandon Stark, Eddard Stark's elder brother, had been able to strangle himself in order to save his father from mad Aerys's lethal torture, because he was close to doing the same now, bound as he was.

Down in the dragon pit were two more poles with two prisoners, and it was easy to recognise them despite the capes over their heads. One was Arya. The other one Sansa.

 

“No...,” Tywin whispered.

Daenaerys pointed with her chin in their direction.

“The little she-wolf was very good, back in Essos. Nearly successful. Would have been deadly for me, had she had some professional training as an assassin – and if Ser Barristan hadn't recognised her.”

It was very difficult for Tywin now to control his breathing.

“Sansa, my wife, had nothing to do with this. Spare at least her life.”

 

A strange smile played around the dragon queen's mouth.

“I've already heard from one of the courtiers that you're fond of your wife, Lord Lannister. More than people thought you capable of.”

Fuck.

Unbidden, the image of the Mockingbird pleading for his life flickered up in Tywin's mind.

“Should have disposed of him while I had the chance,” he thought bitterly.

Aloud, he said: “If those words came from a man named Petyr Baelish my last wish is to have him burned by your dragons after me. He wouldn't do your rule good anyway. But spare my wife.”

He fought with himself and added: “Please. Your Grace.”

 

Daenaerys Targaryen looked at him intently.

“You're willing to bend the knee to me? Despite your grandson?”

“Is he still alive?”

“I don't know. He has disappeared.”

 

Tywin understood that his support was possibly vital for the young woman to minimise all possible opposition in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Let my wife live, and Tommen, if you find it in you, because he's only a boy, and I'll sign my acceptance of your claim to the throne before you burn me.”

What Tywin didn't mention was the fate of his children. As far as he could see, Jaime and Cersei were doomed and he didn't care for Tyrion's lot so there was little use to broach the topic to the young woman in front of him.

 

Daenaerys Targaryen laughed. Her voice was melodious, but it sent a shiver down Tywin's spine.

“My concept of punishing you doesn't comprise your execution, though I'm sure Drogon would have been interested in it. But no – that would mean letting you off the hook too easily,” she said.

Bile rose in Tywin's throat.

“What's your plan, Your Grace?”

 

The dragon queen made a handful of steps, stood before him and looked him straight in the eyes – something only very few people dared to do.

“I will give you a choice, Lord Lannister, and it might be the most diffcult one you've ever been forced to make. From what I've heard the Lannister name means everything to you. Now, I've been told that you care a lot for one of the last two known living Starks. So have your pick: the end of the Lannister name... or the lives of these two women.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right... uuuh... I hope you like my take on Dany. I'm pretty unexperienced when it comes to writing her.


	50. Chapter 50

Tywin knitted his brows.

“What do you mean by that: 'the end of the Lannister name'?”

Daenaerys Targaryen looked at him with calm determination.

“The names “Lannister”, “Lann” and “Lannet” would be forbidden from now on. So would be the Lannister sigil. Casterly Rock would be razed to the ground after the Crown has acquired the valuable goods on the inside. The town would be renamed “Westerport”. The lordship would be given to one of my men. And I'd try to shed less blood in the process than you would.”

Tywin's stomach started to burn as if the woman's dragons had already set him aflame.

 

Next, he simply had to ask: “What will you do to those who happen to go by one of the forbidden names?”

Daenaerys Targaryen shrugged.

“They can choose new ones. Their wive's family names. The common bastard names, like Snow or Flowers or Rivers or Stone. Or they could adopt a name that reflects their personality. I don't care. How would you like “Tywin Stark”?”

 

All Tywin could think was : “Never! I am a Lannister, not a Stark. 'Stark' is a good name, granted. An old name. But not mine.”

What he said was: “The matter about my name – would I have to decide it at once?”

The young woman in front of him wore a mask of indifference.

“Not as long as you wouldn't retain your old one.”

 

“What about my daughter Cersei and my son Jaime?”

“I see you're as tough a negotiator as I expected.”

Tywin surmised he wasn't half as tough as he was wont to do, due to his hangover, but he kept his mouth shut and simply stared at the Dragon Queen.

Daenaerys sighed and said: “Your daughter may choose like the others: a new name or death. Besides, I've heard she's on her way to a sacred place for her personal betterment. She'll stay there for the rest of her life, I'd say. About your son traitorous Jaime... I've heard he's lost the hand that killed my father?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And it's true he's married to the heiress of Tarth?”

“Correct.”

“In that case, he may choose a new name and lifelong exile on Tarth – or death. Oh, and before I forget it: he'll lose the tongue that swore so many false oaths in any case.”

 

Tywin felt bitter. Everthing he had worked for all his life was going to pieces.

He looked at the two poles down in the dragon pit.

“What if those two die?”

Daenaerys batted her silvery eyelashes.

“You'd all keep your names and positions, basically. You yourself would be imprisoned, because you're too dangerous a man. Your son Jaime would still lose his tongue and be exiled to Tarth, but that would be it. He'd still be a Lannister.”

 

It was good Tywin had already vomited twice so his stomach was empty.

“What would happen to Sansa and Arya, if I decided to let them live?”

Daenaerys weighed her head.

“Let's see. The position of the Warden of the North will go in any case to my dear friend and supporter Ser Jorah Mormont.”

Fuck – could things still become any worse?

Meanwhile, the new Targaryen queen went on: “But they – or rather Arya as the last known unmarried Stark – could keep the lordship and Winterfell. I heard the fortress is in ruins and needs to be rebuilt. That's the task of a lifetime, so I wouldn't expect any future rebellion from the Direwolves.”

Tywin was surprised about the leniency with the girl who had intended to assassinate Daenaerys – but then again, he had known Targaryen 'logic' under King Aerys and only wondered how long it would take this young woman to turn into a true madwoman.

 

The Dragon Queen's voice turned steely.

“Enough talking. Make your choice. Now!”

 

Tywin felt as if he were torn in half. According to his own logics the survival of the family was more important than the one of an individual, and occasionally, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Sansa's and Arya's deaths were a natural consequence. He himself would commit suicide afterwards, because he could not go on living after such a decision – but Jaime's children would be able to bear the Lannister name.

 

Tywin's mind drifted back into the past. To Joanna's death. To what it had done to him and what it had meant to the family.

It was as if he heard his first wife whisper: “Look at how the death of one person has damaged your precious family. A family where your heir chose to become a member of the King's Guard rather than to follow in your tracks, rather than to become Lord Lannister.”

Tywin's mind made a jump, and for some unknown reason he thought of the famous winter roses in the Stark's glass houses – glass houses that were lying in shatters now.

He also recollected something he had heard from Lady Olenna Tyrell once, many years before: “Pinching off a single bud is sometimes not enough. You'd have to trim the plant almost to the roots so it can grow anew and thrive.”

 

“Time's up.”

Daenaerys Targaryen's impatient voice brought Tywin back to the present. He looked at Sansa. The tension was too much, even for a hard man like him, and to his embarrassment, he noticed a single salty droplet on his cheek. It made him angry.

When he spoke up, his voice sounded as if it was coming from a grave: “Would the surname 'Goldpride' be acceptable for you, You Grace?”


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some real life stress and much pondering about the *gasp* ending of the story I am able to present a new chapter. I hope the time gap isn't too abrupt.

Sansa was still having difficulties to get it all together, even now, two weeks after having been on the Kingsroad. They had been granted enough money to survive the first two years in Winterfell – not much, given what Tywin had owned before and given how much money they'd need to rebuild her home. Of course, it was the new queen's policy to keep them struggling for all basic needs in the future, so as to keep them occupied, instead of becoming a threat for the throne.

Sansa looked at her husband, who was riding beside her. She was – and would always be – a bad rider, in contrast to him, but she hadn't been allowed a carriage, so she accepted the inevitable and had made friends with her gentle mare.

 

Her minds drifted back to the happenings in the dragon pit. She had thought she'd die. Oh yes, Tywin had confessed his love to her, but she had not believed he'd put her before his family.

What his choice meant had caused her to weep and to fall to her knees when a servant had removed the ropes that had bound her to the pole. Sure, relief had played into the mix as well. She had known of Daenaerys Targaryen's plans and had tried to steel herself for the dragon's flame, but then, she had remembered Sandor Clegane's burns, had remembered the terrors the wounds had caused him, and she had known she'd never be ready for such a kind of death. She'd even made water on herself.

 

Now, things were so different.

For a start, Arya didn't try to argue with Tywin any more. The two would never become friends, but she and Sansa had been saved by the choice he had made, and that had silenced her sister and had brought her to a grumpy peace.

Edric Storm, as King Robert's bastard, had been exiled to the north, too, and was riding with them. Arya kept besieging him. Ever since she had been bound to that pole in the pit, she was of the opinion that any hour could be her last one, and she didn't want to die a maid. Sansa thought highly of Edric, because the youngster kept refusing and telling her she had to be a bit older before he'd feel willing to oblige. Sansa was grateful for this, because she had the feeling that Arya's behaviour had little to do with romantic feelings and that she wasn't quite ready for these things yet. Having been in the queen's clutches – or rather dragon talons – for a longer period of time meant Arya would need some time to heal on the inside.

 

And Tywin? He was sitting there on his steed, erect as the great lord and the successful royal Hand he had been for so long.

Sansa breathed in. Her husband was taciturn, remote and gloomy these days. His eyes looked rarely as if they were focused on the present. There was even a distance between him and her when they were alone, something that caused Sansa no little worry. To be honest, she was half expecting him to leave her at some point... for good.

“You're not going to do something to yourself?” she had asked him one night.

His answer had been cryptic: “I have to make sure you'll live through the first winter.”

His lovemaking afterwards had been quick and shallow, and Sansa had remained unsatisfied. These days, he sometimes bedded her as if he wanted to forget, and she missed the naughty things they had done in the solar and in the bedroom of the Tower of the Hand. The problem was that under these circumstances it was difficult for her to make a love declaration. Sansa even didn't know, if he'd want to hear one any more. 

 

At least, they were not completely alone on their way. There weren't only Arya and Edric with them, but a complete travelling party was accompanying them.

After conferring with his wife Dorna, Ser Kevan, who had survived the dragon attack on the Red Keep, had decided to call himself 'Goldpride' like his elder brother, rather than Swyft. He and his family were coming along to Winterfell.

His exact words had been: “You'll need a castellan, and I'm a good one.”

Arya had not objected, though she still didn't know how to assess this ex-Lannister.

 

There were also some Gold Cloaks who saw no point in staying in the capital or under the new western rule. The region had been given to a foreigner named Naharis, one of the queen's lickspittles.

The latter point was Ser Jorah Mormont's attitude, who was travelling north as well, though he seemed loath to do that. Being the new Warden of the North, it was necessary he visit his home and to meet his new subjects. Sansa mused on how a man who had been exiled by her father for selling slaves had risen so high.

 

One more thing had already been arranged at the beginning of their voyage: they were allowed to cross ways with Ser Jaime and Brienne on their way to Tarth. Sansa wondered what this meeting between father and son would bring. If one considered that Ser Jaime would never be allowed to leave the island of Tarth again and that Winterfell was so far away it could well be the last encounter between the two.

 

There hadn't been any news from Tyrion and Cersei yet, but that was normal. Tyrion was likely the one who'd be the most ready to cast off his Lannister name.

Arya had once murmured under her breath: “I hope he won't want to come to Winterfell as well. Don't want to have too many lions in my home.”

 

Sansa was woken from her reverie when she heard Ser Jorah's call: “There's the inn for the night we've been talking of. Fair enough. It's been a long day.”

Sansa's saddle-sore backside agreed.

 

When she and her husband were lying in a bed two hours later, which luckily wasn't vermin-infested like so many others along the way, she huddled closer.

“Tywin, there's something I'd like to tell you,” she started in a meek voice.

“What is it, Sansa?”

He didn't sound interested.

For a second, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, but then, she told him the truth: “I'm with child.”

Ah. Finally, her husband was focusing on her again.

“When?” he asked.

“Before...”

 

Sansa took his right hand and placed it on her still flat belly. Tywin didn't fight her, thank the heavens.

Instead, he murmured: “Still sired as a Lannister, this one.”

Sansa allowed herself a little smile.

“A child of love.”

Tywin gazed at her for a long moment.

“You won't ride any more from now on, Sansa, lest you lose it. We'll organize a cart for you, somehow.”

Sansa doubted that the rattling of a cart would be much better than a horseback, but her smile deepened nevertheless. That night, it was the first time since Tywin's love declaration that they slept back to belly. Their fingers were entwined and Sansa was more relaxed than she had been for weeks.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I'm exploring what his punishment means for Tywin. Be prepared for bitterness and self-loathing.

Tywin had heard stories about the Red Priest, Thoros of Myr, who was said to be able to revive the dead. It was also rumoured that those who had come back to life lacked a part of their soul, or whatever you chose to call a person's essence. Tywin had never been empathetic beyond what was necessary to win against a foe, to survive the Game of Thrones; now, however, he thought he could understand those people who had been revived.

He lacked a part of himself, a part of who he had been. It had vanished alongside with the Lannister name. And the dragon queen had somehow anticipated it would be like that for him, of that he was convinced. The trap Tywin had stepped into had been placed with great care.

 

During the long hours on horseback while they were riding northwards he often pondered what was worse: that his family history, his lineage, the Lannister legacy had ceased to exist – or that it had been him, of all people, who had betrayed his house.

It was the cruel irony of fate: he had despised his son for joining the King's Guard and for throwing away the position as the heir of Casterly Rock. He had condemned Jaime and his daughter for their incestuous relationship once it had been impossible for him to avert his eyes any more. He had hated Tyrion, not only for killing Joanna, but for being a failure of a Lannister in general.

And now? What he, Tywin, had done to his family was worse and more despicable than all the drinking, gambling, whoring and oath-breaking of all his children together.

 

He remembered Lord Stark say once: “The one who speaks the verdict should also swing the sword, if necessary.”

Tywin had only snorted at the words back then, so many years ago – but he was slowly starting to understand the deeper sense of the sentence, now that he had doomed his own family.

Was he a coward for being relieved he didn't have to watch while the Rock was being razed to the ground? While his subjects, who happened to share the same family origin, would be forced to give up their identity or their lives? Lannisters were a proud lot, if anything, so there would be many cases of death. For the first time in his life, Tywin welcomed it not to have to see the eyes of the doomed before they died.

 

He also remembered the sentence about trimming a bush so it could grow and thrive again. Silently, he cursed the Tyrell hag from Highgarden for saying such a thing. The Lannisters were no weed you could cut. If you mowed them down their heads and paws wouldn't grow back. This was the end of everything for his family. The Rains of Castamere needed a new stanza or two – about the downfall of the one who had thought himself victorious.

 

Tywin felt old. He wanted to die. He should have met the Stranger in a glorious battle, perhaps like Rhaegar. That would have been a worthy ending. Being burned by a dragon would have been horrible, but it wouldn't have taken long and would have been better than the prospect he had: becoming a frail dodderer without a position, without his real name, without his identity.

 

The only reason why he didn't kill himself was Sansa. Now that he had sacrificed everything for her he was responsible to make sure she had a new start and could survive the next winter. Without him it would be difficult. In that case, Kevan and his few men would possibly leave her again. Moreover, Arya was too inexperienced to rebuild Winterfell without a capable Hand, even if the lass likely wouldn't want to hear that.

 

Tywin looked ahead, to where Ser Jorah was riding. There would be no support from the Warden of the North. Queen Daenaerys had been clever enough to unman the seasoned Lord of Castamere, metaphorically speaking, but she had little knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms – least of all the north.

“The north remembers,” that was a saying the dragon queen had either never heard or not understood. By selling people away as slaves in the past, Ser Jorah had broken one of the oldest taboos of Westeros.  
Tywin, personally, wouldn't have made such a fuss in Lord Stark's place. After all, the simple farming folk in the Seven Kingdoms was dependent on their lords, too. In most cases, the people were not free to choose the way of life they wanted to lead, just like any slave. Besides, many farmers were as poor as slaves – whereas the most privileged slaves in the slavers' cities were even better off than, say, an established craftsman in King's Landing.

Eddard Stark, however, had declared Ser Jorah deserved death penalty, and only the knight's flight to Essos had saved his life. People would remember that. It was only a question of time until the man would be felled by a stray arrow or a dagger shoved into his back. Tywin had wondered why Ser Jorah would want to take the risk – until he had learned how much the man was yearning for his home. There were moments when every man became a fool... but Ser Jorah had had more than his share of them.

 

Pfft. Home. What should he say himself!?

Apart from that... Tywin was convinced he'd end like Ser Jorah. He had sent so many people to the Wall, thus earning their hatred. On hearing the disgraced Old Lion was in Winterfell, someone would seek him out sooner or later and take revenge.

 

Tywin cast Sansa a side glance. The price for her survival had been too high – but it had been the only one he had been able to pay. Still... there were moments these days when it was difficult to love her, because he felt so bitter. Then again, there were others when he lost himself in her and was able to forget for a moment what had happened.

That was when he hoped he'd live long enough for his unborn child to remember him after his death. True, he couldn't provide a name any more. The boy or girl would be a Stark, Tywin had no illusions about this. He or she would grow up in Winterfell and would be a child of the north. Even so... a child should have the chance to remember the father. Or the mother. One only had to look at what it had done to his other children that they hadn't known Joanna longer.

 

A female hand was laid on his own ones.

“Are you brooding again, Tywin?”

“There's a lot to consider. And I'm worried. You should be on a cart, like I've said it.”

Sansa smiled.

“And you know what I've said: the jarring of a cart wouldn't be any better. I remember the queen's wagon I was in on the way to the capital. Back then, it was a thrilling experience, but I'm beyond that.“

Tywin grumbled something under his breath.

“We'll be reaching the Inn at the Crossroads soon, won't we?” Sansa asked.

From behind, Kevan spoke up: “Yes. Tomorrow, likely. Jaime and Lady Brienne may already be waiting for us.”

Tywin's hands tightened on his horse's reins. He didn't want to know what his eldest son would have to say to his father... to what Tywin had done.


	53. Chapter 53

It was as Kevan had anticipated. When their travelling party arrived at the inn in the late afternoon, they were greeted by a group from the Westerlands – and in the middle were Jaime with his huge wife and a grouching baby boy in her arms.

Tywin cast a quick glance at the wisp of fair hair on the child's head. The tot seemed to be more good-looking than the mother, which wasn't much of a task to begin with, but at least Jaime's seed had proven strong again – and this time within the boundaries of matrimony. Only Tywin's grandson wouldn't grow up the way he would have deserved it. At least Tarth was a tolerable place and the family name acceptable.

 

“Welcome, father, even if we have already met under better circumstances. – Lady Sansa.”

A curt nod on Tywin's part while Sansa inclined her head in a polite greeting.

“And as I can see, father, you're already assessing little Gerion. What's your verdict?”

Tywin dismounted and said in an offhand tone: “Two hands and ten fingers in contrast to his sire, but as talkative as his him.”

 

Jaime's mouth curled into a sarcastic grin.

“The world may be falling apart, but one can always count on your sharp comments, father. Will you come in?”

 

Tywin patted his horse's wrist and handed it over to a stable boy.

“Sure. We need some rest, food and a hot bath. Sansa most of all.”

The corner of Jaime's mouth twitched. He gazed at his... stepmother, who blushed scarlet, but then his look snapped back to Tywin.

“Yes, sure. Your room has been prepared. – Uncle Kevan, and there's another one for you and Aunt Dorna.”

 

The greeting of the various family members continued, but they all kept it short. Various times, Tywin could feel his son's eyes on himself – and on Sansa. Silent questions were hovering in the air, but Tywin didn't feel in the mood to answer any and stalked towards his room. He already knew which one it would be from previous stays. It was the best one in the inn, of course.

“I'll meet you for dinner,” he told Jaime over his shoulder.

 

While Sansa was having a bath she said to Tywin: “It's such an odd feeling to be your son's stepmother now although he could be my father.”

He answered: “There's no need to ponder this since our meeting will be short and you won't be seeing him on a regular basis in the future.”

 

His wife didn't look convinced, but didn't dwell on the topic.

Instead, she asked: “Do you think Arya will try to harm Ser Jaime? I mean... having shoved my brother Bran out of a window and breaking his back...”

Tywin snorted.

“Not likely. Your hellion of a sister would have to get past that ogre of a fair-haired woman named Lady Brienne.”

“Please don't use such nasty comparisons, husband. That acid tongue of yours will burn down your throat one day.”

Tywin looked heavenwards for a moment, but he said nothing. It would have been futile anyway.

 

Meanwhile, Sansa went on: “Do you think I'll be allowed to hold little Gerion for a moment?”

“I don't see why it shouldn't be possible. Isn't that what young mothers do? Passing around their offspring so everyone can adore them?”

Now, it was Sansa who was screwing up her eyes.

She asked: “Tell me: during your first marriage – were you ever an active father, or were you just the much occupied, aloof Hand of the King?”

Tywin's retort was sharp: “What do you want to imply?”

Having rinsed herself, Sansa rose from the little bathtub she had been in and stepped onto a towel.

“I mean,” she emphasized, “that I want you to pass time with our child in the future.”

“Oh, great, should I swaddle the baby, too? I can already see him or her piss over my hands. Glorious prospects.”

 

Sansa's blue eyes were becoming stormy, and she put her hands on her hips. Tywin saw it – but he also noticed the rivulets on her naked skin and how her wet nipples were glistening in the late afternoon light. His heartbeat accelerated.

He hastened to say: “We'll cross the bridges when we come to them. In the meantime, I'll take care of YOU.”

And with those words, he pulled her arms away and put his own ones around her middle, leaned forward and took one of those pert nipples into his mouth. Sansa gasped and Tywin asked himself why in the name of the Seven he had donned breeches and a tunic after his own bath.

His hands started to fondle her buttocks. After a short while, Sansa's little panting sounds turned into whimpers. Contented, Tywin changed the breast and kissed and licked and nibbled some more. He had already found out on one occasion that it was possible to cause Sansa to peak just by regaling her teats with a passionate treatment. So he wanted to see, if he could make her come like this again.

It took a while, but when his fingers added to the sensation further down Sansa climaxed with a wonderful squeal. By then, his wife already needed his support, because she couldn't stand properly anymore.

Without further ado, Tywin carried her to the bed and put her down. The fact that his clothes got wet in the process wasn't a deterrent. He tore on the laces of his breeches to open them and freed his cock. Mere moments later, their bodies were joined.

“You're addictive, woman,” he growled.

Sansa only arched her back and pressed her head into the cushion, welcoming his long, deep thrusts. She was too far gone to answer in a coherent way any more and was already one her way to a second peak. Tywin pumped into her like the greedy man he was to catch up with her. Only Sansa was such a sensual woman that he didn't have a chance, and she came first. Her clenching muscles and her ecstatic moans sent him over the edge as well.

 

Afterwards, they lay together for a moment. Sansa played with his sideburns, and Tywin felt heavy and drowsy like a lion after a feast. Even stranger was the point that for the time being, he didn't fear to face the reproaches of his eldest son. Tywin shook his head a little. What on earth did fucking his wife have to do with the difficulty of the challenge ahead?


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Glorious" family meeting, part I. In which Tywin discovers his own version of "mercy" and of behaving like a knight.

Jaime and Tywin met in the common room, but moved over to an adjoining room so they could talk in private. Just when they were about to start their conversation there was some fuss outside. Heated female voices could be heard.

One heartbeat later, the door flew open and Brienne of Tarth shoved Arya into the room while pressing the girl's arms on the back. Arya was hissing and spitting, but she was kept firm in the larger woman's grip.

 

“What is this commotion?” Tywin demanded to know.

His daughter-in-law answered: “This one wanted to storm in here with a toothpick of a sword in her hand. But I managed to disarm her.”

Arya shot back: “Let me go! This turd over there – he pushed my brother out of a window. And he made this monster that had my father murdered for saying the truth!”

 

Tywin stiffened.

He thought: “So I was right – that girl didn't get past the warrior woman. Interesting.”

Aloud, he said: “Girl. You think you can come and try to murder my son? And without punishment?”

Arya, however, didn't fear anything and clamoured: “I am the Lady of Winterfell now, and you're my subject, Tywin _Goldpride_. I was trying to punish your son for a crime he had committed, and don't you say it's not true. You cannot do anything to me.”

 

Tywin narrowed his eyes.

“You mean: I can't do anything to you _and get away with it_ when the Dragon Queen hears of it. As if I would care about that. And besides, Daenaerys is no friend of the Starks. You may recollect our last meeting with her. If you got killed she wouldn't weep for you. And your underdeveloped brain is forgetting that Jaime is not your subject, but the Lord of Tarth. You cannot punish him, and even less so without a trial. Apart from that, the queen has already decided what is supposed to happen to my son.”

 

Arya Stark was red in the face now.

“The Dragon Queen is –”

“What is going on here?”

Ser Mormont entered the room.

Arya blurted out what had happened, and Tywin corrected her point of view in an icy tone.

Ser Jorah listened and stated: “I am the Warden of the North now, so it's not your turn to lift a sword against another lord. You're lucky you're a girl and not an adult, or I'd send you to the Wall for your insolence.”

 

Tywin was grinding his teeth. If not for Sansa he'd have the girl killed for what she had tried to do, no matter if he was the Lord of Lannister or no. As it was, he found himself in a difficult situation. Ser Jorah was his overlord now, at least until his soon to be expected demise, and Tywin didn't want to make Sansa and her unborn child suffer. It meant he had to goad this foolish knight, who was posing as the Warden of the North, into the right direction.

In a calm, but steely voice he said to Ser Jorah: “You can see that this girl is rash. Spiteful. Vengeful. She lacks the wisdom to rule Winterfell. And she has to be punished for trying to murder my son.”

 

The Dragon Queen's minion scratched his stubble.

Arya growled: “The North remembers, Ser Jorah. Do YOU remember? You've been away from the north for so long.”

Tywin could tell at once that this was the wrong question.

Ser Jorah remembered well – that Lord Stark had sentenced him to death and had driven him away from Westeros.

“I believe you already have got an idea, L... Tywin.”

Tywin breathed in and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he said: “Arya Stark needs someone to rein her in. She needs a husband. At once. And as it happens, we've got a suitable young man in our travelling party.”

“You mean Edric Storm?”

“Indeed. A calm man, but energetic and strong. And Jaime should decide on a compensation for the transgression.”

“You beast!” Arya seethed.

 

Unfortunately, this was the exact moment when Brienne spoke up: “Isn't she still too young to be bedded?”

Tywin snorted.

“You can't know it, but Arya Stark has been literally begging Edric Storm to do it for the last weeks.”

“What!?” Jaime cut in and Tywin wondered, if his eldest son had lost his eloquence. Not that Jaime had ever been the brightest card in the deck; he had barely learned to read and write, despite Tywin's unrelenting education. But Jaime had always had a quick tongue. Oh well. Back to the present.

 

“It's true,” Ser Jorah agreed to what Tywin had said. “She's been asking for a bedding, even I could notice it.”

Arya was weeping angry tears. This was not how she wanted things to happen. Good.

Tywin addressed his son: “And what do you want as a compensation from her for what she's been trying to do?”

Jaime looked Arya up and down.

“I don't think she has got much to give. Winterfell is a ruin and she'll be needed there. I'll take that little sword of hers for Gerion.”

“NOOOOO!” Arya yelled.

“Fine,” Ser Jorah said with lifted eyebrows. “I didn't want to start my duty in the north with bloodshed. Especially not with blood of the Starks. I'll go and find a septon.”

 

The next moment, Sansa came into the room. She looked alarmed.

“What's going on here? What are you doing to my sister?”

“They're taking Needle away!” Arya sobbed.

Tywin huffed: “Jaime has just abstained from asking for your sister's head for trying to murder him.”

Sansa's eyes were huge.

“What? Murder?”

Tywin nodded into Brienne's direction and simply said: “I told you so.”

Sansa was a perfect lady and she reacted accordingly to this. She fainted.

Damn.

Tywin stood up and hurried over to his wife.

“See what you're doing with your foolishness, Lady Arya?” he spat.

His knees protested when he knelt down, and he realised he was getting too old to lift up a woman, but at that moment, he ignored his protesting body and carried Sansa back to their room.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, a certain someone is getting served the bill for his behaviour. Tywin has got to realise he's not the nearly almighty king's Hand anymore - and it's not an easy lesson.

Tywin expected Sansa would thank him for taking her to the bedchamber, but when his wife awoke the opposite was true. “Furious” was barely enough to describe Sansa's mood.

“How dare you sell off my little sister like that? As if she were chattel. How dare you punish her by taking her beloved sword away? It's the last object she's got from Winterfell.”

 

Tywin tensed.

“Your sister – she tried to murder my son! What should I have done in your opinion? Tell her everything was fine? Tell Arya her behaviour was wise, though it was the most stupid thing? No, no: she needs a husband who can teach her some sense. You've known Robert Baratheon, haven't you? So you should know what it means to have a ruler who isn't apt for the task – a ruler who is acting on his personal whims and who is vengeful beyond all limits. And Arya should lead Winterfell under these conditions? Edric Storm seems not to be coming after his father, something we can be grateful for. He'd be a consort for her.”

 

Sansa was still fuming.

“Arya is still a girl, have you considered this for a moment? I wasn't any wiser than her three to four years ago, in my own way, but things change. Arya will mature. And besides, she's got much better reasons to be vengeful than King Robert ever had. Jaime sired the boy who murdered our father, and your precious son was the one who pushed Bran out of that window in Winterfell, who tried to murder him. Is it so surprising she reacted the way she did? Was this so different from what your son did? I don't think so. Oh, and before I forget it: Arya is still too young to marry. Too young to be bedded.”

 

Tywin huffed: “She's flowered!”

Sansa's face was pale from anger, and her blue eyes glared daggers at him.

“As if her moon blood is a valid argument! Have you looked at her body? She's not ready to bear a child. I was better developed at her age, and I still wouldn't have been prepared for the marriage bed. Or for a baby.”

Tywin snarled back: “Maybe her physical development is lagging behind, but not her needs. You know she's been trying to seduce Edric.”

 

Sansa's hands balled into fists.

“And here I thought you to be intelligent! Yes, Arya has been trying to lure Edric into a tumble, but it has nothing to do with her being mature enough, or with her having needs. Have you never thought of the possibility that she may be doing it for other reasons? Like to be considered a woman, because a woman may not be worth much in this world, but at least a little more than a girl? She wants to be grown up before her time, but she isn't.”

 

Tywin rolled up his eyes.

“If she isn't ready – how could she be the Lady of Winterfell? How could she rebuild the castle and prepare the people for the next winter? I'm not a Stark, but even I have heard of the motto “Winter is Coming”. No, she needs a husband. And if this Edric thinks like you – that Arya isn't ready for a bedding – he can postpone the intimacies. Wouldn't be the first time a husband is doing that. What people need is a reliable partner to negotiate with.”

 

Sansa's voice turned bitter then: “You mean a partner who is malleable according to your wishes. Really, Tywin, I don't want to hear any of your hypocritical arguments when all you truly want is to get a foot back into the Game of Thrones. But I won't be a part of this. I hope you know you're losing me this way. Right now, I think I can't feel any love for you any more.”

 

Had someone driven a blunt dagger into his heart Tywin couldn't have felt more acute pain. He got up from their bed and answered: “You're not seeing that their wedding would benefit everyone. What a pity.”

 

Sansa shook her head in disbelief, and he turned on his heels. Out he stalked. Looking back was... impossible.

 

Only in the corridor down the stairs things didn't get one whit better for him. He was awaited by Edric Storm. The lad had had an angled leg and the sole of a foot pressed against the wall, but when he saw Tywin, he straightened.

“Lord... Ser Tywin,” Edric spoke up.

“What is it?”

The youngster looked annoyed.

“I think it's interesting you've ordered Arya's immediate wedding – and didn't ask me.”

 

Now, Tywin was both confused and frustrated.

“Back in King's Landing you looked very interested in the match. But if you don't want to marry Arya any more we'll be able to find someone else soon enough. Ser Jorah could have his second wife declared dead after all these years without word from her and wed Lady Arya himself to get a better claim on the north.”

 

Of course, this was rubbish for many reasons, but Tywin wanted to shock the young man to bring him to heel. The problem was that Edric was no fool, unlike his sire. One tended to forget that when you were face to face to him, because he looked so much like fat Robert.

“Have you been listening to yourself so far today, Ser Tywin?”

The question was met with a snort.

“Be careful, boy. I don't take insults well. Now tell me: what do you want, if not Arya?”

 

Edric Storm stood even straighter then.

“As a matter of fact – I do want Arya, but I object to the moment and to the circumstances.”

“Do you then?”

Tywin was close to slap some sense into the boy. The bastard got the Lady of Winterfell served on a silver platter, so to speak, and what did the boy do? Behave like a stubborn goat.

 

Edric was now bringing his surname Storm to life, and his voice was like distant thunder when he retorted: “Yes, I do object. First of all: I'll propose to her, and as long as she doesn't say 'yes' I won't wed her. Second: I'll wait until Arya and me, we really know each other before I bed her. Third: I demand a particular wedding present from you.”

 

By then, Tywin was fuming. The insolence of this bastard! Back in King's Landing he'd have whipped him in public for such a disrespectful behaviour.

“Do you really believe I'd blow honey into your back opening?” Tywin spat.

Edric breathed in to brace himself for his demand, that much was obvious. The lad pointed at Tywin's middle.

“You're taking away Arya's Needle – so she'll need some sort of compensation. Isn't the weapon at your belt made from her father's longsword? That's what she should have. The smaller Needle was fitting for a girl. If she's supposed to be Lady of Winterfell she should have a befitting weapon. Lord Stark's Valyrian sword – or at least this half of it.”

 

Tywin's jaws worked.

“Are those your claims?” he ground out.

Edric Storm nodded, and somehow, he looked exhausted and years older than he was.

Truth be told, Tywin felt exhausted and older than he was, too. His mind wandered back to furious Sansa, back in her bedchamber.

 

“I don't care about your intimacies, or when you'll start them,” he told Edric. “But if you actually want to marry Arya, make her agree soon, or someone else might snatch her away from you. There are many who'd have fewer qualms, because they'd love to get a grip on Winterfell. I've heard that northerners even tend to abduct their brides.”

The youngster only glowered back, but didn't say anything to that. Then, he turned and left in silence.

 

Tywin hoped Edric Storm would show the same stubbornness in his speed wooing as he had done in this quarrel. Arya's willingness might help to cause icy Sansa to warm up again.


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my lack of updates. I don't even get enough sleep these days. Real life. I hope the writing quality isn't getting too low in this chapter.

“Can you see that?” Kevan asked when Tywin re-entered the separate room in the basement and pointed at the window.

Tywin turned and looked out. Young Edric stood in the yard, leaned against a birch, and he was sick against the tree trunk.

“We had a little argument in the corridor,” Tywin said.

“Why, that explains his reaction. Must have got a good stomach, if he can still stand at all,” Jaime commented in a dry tone.

Tywin didn't feel it necessary to react to this.

Instead, he asked his son: “How long are you going to stay here?”

Jaime chuckled.

“Do you want to get rid of us?”

Tywin gazed at his son.

“I'd rather think you'd wan to get rid of me.”

 

Jaime's eyebrows rose.

“Would you? And why would you feel I wouldn't appreciate your presence?”

“Since when are you taking me for a simpleton, Jaime? Is ruining the Lannister family not bad enough?”

 

His son was silent for a moment. What was worse – he didn't even smirk. Instead, he cocked his head.

“And since when are you blaming yourself for a possible mistake? You're quite a changed man, I must say. With regard to destroying and besmirching the Lannister name: I guess we've all had a share in it at some point. I do remember a certain royal Targaryen throat, for example. And there was this Baratheon offspring of... improper parentage. You know. The prince who took Ned Stark's head, for example.”

 

Tywin knitted his brows. He'd had expected harsh words. Not... this. He tried not to dwell on it, though.

He rather asked: “Have you heard anything new from Cersei?”

Jaime shook his head. The silence between them was meaningful. Dark. Heavy.

This was the very topic Jaime didn't want to talk about.

He asked: “There's something I don't understand, father. Back at Casterly Rock I was told... you had the choice to save the family or to wipe it out. And that you opted for... the end. Tell me, father: what was more important to you than the Lannister legacy, the one thing that has always driven you.”

 

Tywin looked out of the window, to where the birch tree was dirty from Edric Storm's vomit.

After a long moment, he murmured: “Not what. Who. I chose Sansa.”

On hearing that, Jaime leaned back. Tywin could see it from the corners of his eyes; but the Old Lion refused to look at his son's facial expression. Tywin thought he didn't need to see the disgust he'd surely find there.

A Lion, defeated by a Direwolf. Or rather a wolf-bitch, no less. The shame of it.

 

The room was silent for what felt like eternity.

Finally, Jaime said: “You know... I've never understood you. This is the first time it's different.”

Now, Tywin DID look at his elder son. And for once, Tywin didn't say a word, because he didn't know what to answer.

Jaime sighed. An uncharacteristic sound from him.

“Well, father, and Sansa? Would she have chosen you or her Stark name, what do you think?”

There were knots in Tywin's stomach, and they tightened.

“She wouldn't choose me. At least not any more. Not now that Arya has to marry Edric Storm.”

 

Jaime showed a painful grin.

“If there's any job in the Seven Kingdoms you're not capable of, it's the one of a match-maker. Was this also the reason for your argument with young Edric?”

Tywin shrugged.

“A trifle of a problem. He wants to have my sword for Arya, now that she's had to give her weapon away.”

Jaime nodded and said: “Your sword – it's from Ned Stark's old Valyrian broadsword. In a way, it's a reasonable wish. And actually... there are two Stark daughters and two such Valyrian short swords. I'll talk to Brienne. My wench would come talk about it anyway. I know her. She's stubborn about doing the honourable thing.”

“Sounds like Ned Stark would have liked her as a daughter-in-law.”

Jaime laughed.

“And I love her _although_ she's honourable. See – you're not the only one who has changed. I'm even allowed to be a father in public now. A position I've come to appreciate, to my own surprise. But what about Sansa's heart? What do you intend to do to win her back?”

Tywin shrugged.

“She'll have to realise how exaggerated her attitude is with regard to her sister's marriage.”

Jaime palmed his face.

“Damn, father, you're a true romantic. Let's start this all over again.”

Tywin drummed his fingers on the table.

He thought: “I'm getting lectured about this by my own son. In front of my brother. How deep I've sunk...”


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit ill at the moment, but luckily a netbook also works in bed.

One rule had been established between Sansa and Tywin during their later days in King's Landing: Tywin didn't leave any secret letters lying around. What she could see on his desk was meant for her eyes as well.  
So when she had spotted an unsealed letter on the trunk in their bedroom she assumed her husband wanted it to be read. When he might have written the text she did not know, but it could only have happened after their departure from the capital. Perhaps during some long nights when she had already been asleep.

  
Sansa's mouth had been a grim line when she had picked up the paper and had opened it. Now that she was reading the lines, however, her mouth turned into a little “o”.

 

_“Grandson._

 

_Now that you are reading this letter you will be old enough to understand. If you are not – keep the letter until you are. You won't remember me personally. It is probable I will be dead when you are reading this. You will have heard about me, though, and likely nothing good. Even less so since history is written by winners, and Queen Daenaerys drove your uncle from the Iron Throne and into exile to take revenge on our family._

  
_What is true is that I have been a harsh man, and I can live with it, because my severe acts were unavoidable and served the good of our family. The Lannister family._

  
_You are a Lannister, even the Lannister heir, no matter what you have heard and what you have been called._

 

_The Lannister family used to be the most splendid, the richest and most influential family in Westeros while I was its leader. Our name was respected everywhere, and feared, too. During the reign of King Aerys I was the royal Hand and served the Seven Kingdoms in the best possible way, despite the king's growing madness._

  
_“Then why am I not called 'Lannister'”, you will ask yourself, “and why am I not residing in glorious Casterly Rock? Why am I not called the future Warden of the West? Why am I in the east, and not in the west? Why has the family fortress been razed to the ground? And why has even the name of Lannisport been replaced so as to wipe out the memory of the Lions in the West?”_

 

_These are valid questions. It is because your grandfather has made some crucial mistakes. I am a proud man, so this is difficult for me, but I apologise for depriving you of what is yours by right: your family legacy. It is no use to cry over spilled milk or to explain in detail how the queen forced me into this situation._

  
_I may have been blackmailed to recant my name, at least officially, but it will only be dead once there is no-one left to reclaim it. You can be the one to do it and to win back old glory._

 

_What you have to do, though, is to learn from my mistakes to help re-establish our family name. I believe my son Jaime, your father, will have neither the power nor the inclination to do so. For that reason, I am putting my hope on you. Yes, I hope you will work to regain the position you were born into._

  
_What are the mistakes I have made that you should avoid?_

  
_While I have been able to command respect and loyalty I have been incapable of inspiring friendship or adoration. Yet, friendship and adoration is what you will need on your way back to the top._

  
_Do not get me wrong: the Game of Thrones can mean that today's friends may be your enemies tomorrow. Yet, what you will need is support. Political alliances. I tended to underestimate emotions in the world of politics. While analytical thinking and cunning are of utmost importance I advise you to at least realise what is going on in people's hearts so that you can use it to your advantage. Not to do that sufficiently was my first mistake._

  
_My second one was to underestimate women for the better part of my life. I could acknowledge and appreciate the intelligence and the outstanding strength of my two wives, but that is where my wisdom used to end. Most of all, I underestimated Queen Daenaerys. I did not consider her an active player in the Game of Thrones, even less a strong one. That was the crucial point that brought about the downfall of our family. Given the nature of your mother I want to believe you will not make the same mistake._

  
_Talking of women – they can make you both stronger and weaker. Choose the women in your life carefully. I have been blessed with two wonderful, unique wives in my life, but as I have already mentioned I am no expert when it comes to matters of the heart. Your father may give you some wiser insights in this respect._

 

_I have talked about my past and of what you should be careful about. What you also need to know is to have an idea of what you should do to get what you deserve. The truth is: nobody will give you anything if you do not fight for it. Others will also fight for what they consider their due, so staying in the same place is, in fact, a step back._

  
_What you have to do is to prepare for the fights you will have to go through in your life. When I mean “fight” I do not only speak of the battlefield. Yes, you will have to be fit with your sword, and you have to be able to impale an enemy with your weapon, but any simple knight can do that._

  
_You need to train your head as much as your sword arm. You need intelligence to make plans, you need strategies to achieve your aims._

  
_Do not blurt out what you know; that would be foolish and could well cost you your head. Knowledge is as valuable as golden stags, if not more so. Be careful where to invest, assess the risks and the possible profit._

  
_If knowledge is a currency, your intelligence is supposed to be the vault to hoard it. Do you know who was the founder of the Lannister family? He was called “Lann the Clever”. It is no wonder that a clever man laid the ground for the family success._

 

_Have you heard of our family motto? “Hear is roar.” When you read this the roar has been reduced to a tiny mewl, barely audible. I am putting my hope on you that one day the proud Lannister roar will be heard again._

  
_We also have got an inofficial motto: “The Lannisters always pay their debts.” These are helpful words, too. Know your responsibilities, pay who deserves a payment and make those pay who wrong you._

 

_This is all I can say. My important days are over and all I can do is to tell you what is yours, what you deserve and how to obtain it. Life will never be easy, no matter what you choose, so attempt to choose right. Be brave. Be proud of who you are._

 

_Your grandfather,_   
_Tywin Lannister_

 

Sansa stared at the parchment in her hand. Then, she looked at the flames, which were crackling in the fireplace. Once again, she gazed at the letter. It felt like lead in her hands. So did her heart. “Attempt to choose right.”

  
These words were not only meant for little Gerion.

 

After what seemed to be an eternity, Sansa put the letter back onto the trunk. She pondered her husband's words about knowledge some more and finally whispered to herself: “I need to talk to Lady Brienne.”  
Without further ado, she left the room.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from a holiday trip with a longer chapter.

Lady Brienne was with her son in their room – and wore trousers as if she were a man. Though Sansa was tall for a woman herself she was still impressed by the other one's size and bulky frame. Sansa thought of the arrogant Jaime she had got to know when he had come to Winterfell and of when he had accompanied them down the Kingsroad to the capital. Those memories made it impossible to imagine him together with this woman.

  
“Oh, well, people won't be able to picture me together with Tywin either,” she mused.

 

Gerion made some bubbly baby noises, and Lady Brienne beamed with motherly love while asking: “What can I do for you, Lady Sansa?”

  
It was difficult to address what had to be said. Hopefully, the other woman was worthy of the information. The wife of the infamous, incestuous Kingslayer... the man who had shoved Bran out of a tower to kill Sansa's little brother. Was the Heiress of Tarth a better person?

 

Sansa breathed in and said: “Lord Tywin – he will give your husband a letter for your son before we part again. The message is meant for your son in the distant future. If your Gerion comes... after the Lannister side characterwise and if he believes the words in the letter... it might be the seed for a future civil war. I wanted to warn you.”

 

Lady Brienne looked at her with an open face and remarkably blue eyes that were now overcast with thoughtfulness.

  
“Thank you, Lady Sansa,” she said.

  
Unlike Ser Jaime Lady Brienne wasn't one to speak in a witty, eloquent way; but the few words she uttered carried meaningful undertones.

 

There was a moment of silence and Sansa considered to leave the room again.

 

Then, Lady Brienne spoke up a second time: “It's beneficial we can exercise a positive influence on the men around us.”

  
Sansa needed a moment to decode her cryptic words: _“You have softened up Lord Tywin. My Jaime is a better man now, too. And I will do what I can to raise my son in a good way.”_

  
At that, Sansa uttered a bitter little laugh.

  
“Lady Brienne, I fear you take me for a more influential woman than I am. My husband is a thickheaded block of ice as soon as he smells a whiff of the Game of Thrones.”

  
The next moment, Sansa flinched. Gods, why was she so candid with the Lady of Tarth? Anyone in league with a Lion had to be treated with caution!

 

The tall warrior woman blinked. Her mouth formed a little “o”. From one moment to the next, her eyes became softer.

  
Next, she said: “Lady Sansa, I'm not good with words, but I'm not blind. Lord Tywin looks at you the way Jaime does at me. When you two arrived at the inn I saw a man, not the emotionless demi-god of a father Jaime has described to me.”

  
Sansa thought of Arya's fate and looked to the side. Lady Brienne was friendly enough, so Sansa didn't want to argue with her.

  
Instead, she said: “Well. There's something I should mention... erm... Ser Jaime... he'll have a half-sibling in a few months.”

 

Sansa didn't know which kind of reaction she had expected – but certainly not enthusiasm.

  
Lady Brienne chuckled and said: “Ha! So I've won the bet. Jaime didn't want to believe me when I told him I was suspecting you to be with child. How wonderful! Oh please, we must exchange our experiences via raven in the future! I've just had Gerion and I'm sure more children will follow, so it's great to know someone in the same situation. The first pregnancy frightened me a lot, and I thought it was the most female situation I had ever known myself to be in. Worse than that, I didn't have a mother who could help me – and Jaime... I swear he didn't even know how to count nine months. Men are so clueless about female mysteries. They can wade in blood, but as soon as they see a stain of moon blood they run away screaming.”

  
Sansa laughed and her heart became lighter.

 

She spent the next hour or so in Brienne's room chatting with her about stupid Lannister pride, holding little Gerion on her knees and talking about pregnancy problems and the birthing process.

  
“I wish we could all live together,” Sansa thought. “I haven't had a female friend since Jeyne, and Arya would adore Lady Brienne for her fighting prowess. Perhaps, I could even forgive Ser Jaime one day.”

  
She was delighted when the tall woman invited her for a visit to Tarth for the time after the next winter. The two women hoped that by then it would be possible to obtain an according permission from Queen Daenaerys.

  
_“It would be something for Tywin to look forward to,”_ Sansa thought, but then, she pushed the thought away, because she was still angry with her husband.

 

At some point, a servant called through the door: “Everything is prepared for Lady Stark's and Lord Edric's wedding ceremony... and for dinner.”

  
Sansa stiffened and her momentary jolliness dissipated.

  
Lady Brienne sighed and put Gerion on her left hip.

  
“Let's go then. This is a typical male folly again, but the little I know about your younger sister already tells me she'll show the men where the morning star is hanging, believe me. I'm just happy she didn't manage to kill my Jaime, or I fear I'd have had a worse opinion of her.”

 

Sansa curled her lips in a wry smile. It was difficult to remain in a depressive mood around this tomboyish woman. Lady Brienne was no beauty, but she was amiable. The only wonder was how Ser Jaime had looked beyond appearances and had noticed... and started to appreciate this kindness. But if there was hope for the arrogant Kingslayer there was probably also hope for Arya's marriage, given that Edric Storm was a friendly fellow to begin with.

  
Wringing her hands inwardly, Sansa descended the steps to the common room.

 

The wedding ceremony was over within minutes. Arya's face was sour, but her voice didn't falter, and she accepted Edric's kiss. Later, the two sat side by side and didn't talk much. Arya became more and more tired; after all, it had been a long day of travelling. In the end, her head sagged against Edric's shoulder, and the young man smiled down at the crown of her head, though he was just as groggy.

 

Throughout the meal Sansa had avoided Tywin's eyes and had not spoken with him either. Instead, she conversed with Brienne across the table and with Lord Kevan's wife Dorna, who she was coming to like.  
After the dinner, people rose from their seats. Sansa noticed Ser Jaime and his wife having a private discussion after Lady Brienne had handed over her sleeping son to a wetnurse. The two spouses were serious, but there was no aggression in their looks and voices.

  
Arya woke up again, yawned and rubbed her eyes. Edric teased her under his breath, and there was an impish grin on his face; so Arya thumped him in the side, and the youngster laughed.

 

To Sansa's surprise, Tywin walked over to the two of them, took his sword in hand and said after a weird exchange of looks with Edric: “Lady Arya, this here was once a part of your father's broadsword. It's yours now... under the condition that you never threaten any people of my blood again.”

  
Sansa's jaw sagged.

  
Arya's eyes became very round, and her hands were shaking when she took hold of the sword.

  
“Father's Ice...,” she whispered.

  
“One half of it,” Tywin said.

  
Arya looked up at him and simply nodded. They exchanged no more words. That was unnecessary.

  
However, Arya stated without addressing anyone specific: “Its name shall be Wolf's Howl. The Starks are coming back to Winterfell and will become audible in the North again.”

  
Once more did Sansa notice a look between Edric and Tywin. There was something going on between the two men that Sansa didn't understand.

 

When Tywin returned to Sansa's side she said: “That was a precious gift. You did well.”

  
Tywin snorted, whatever that meant.

  
He pointed at the young couple with his chin and mumbled: “This Edric – he won't bed her any time soon.”

  
A wave of relief crashed over Sansa.

  
“Good. And now... it's been a long day. I need to retire.”

  
She didn't want to make things too easy for Tywin as she realised her husband's generosity wasn't something he had come up with himself.

 

Tywin answered: “I'll join you in about an hour. I'm going to pass some time with my son.”

  
Sansa nodded. It was something she could understand since the two would part again soon enough. What was interesting was the fact that Tywin was more relaxed about the idea of passing time with Ser Jaime than ever since their travelling party had left King's Landing for the North.

  
“Their first meeting must have gone well,” she thought and made for the staircase.

 

On her way, she came across the Kingslayer.

  
“Lady Sansa,” he said, and for once, there was no trace of a grin on his face.

  
“Yes, Ser Jaime?”

  
The handicapped knight breathed in and out and didn't look her in the eyes.

  
“I've talked to my wife, and we're of the same opinion. Father's present for Arya was all good and nice, but it was only one half of the truth.”

  
Sansa knitted her brows.

  
“What do you mean, Ser Jaime?”

  
The knight rubbed his chin.

  
“Brienne and me have decided...”

  
Without further ado, he handed her his sword. Sansa didn't understand.

  
“Its name is Oathkeeper,” Ser Jaime said and added: “One Valyrian longsword. Two sisters – two shortswords.”

 

Understanding hit Sansa like a ram, and she'd have nearly let the weapon fall. The next moment, Ser Jaime shouldered past her and let her stand where she was. After all, he was still a proud man, and this gesture came as close to an excuse as it was possible from someone like him.

  
“He'd never say sorry aloud. He resembles his sire in that respect,” she thought, carried the sword upwards and put it onto a trunk. She neither wanted to hold nor to wield it, but it was good to know it would return to the North, to where it belonged.

 

With slow movements she put off her clothes until she was only wearing a thin shift. Next, she put a broad, woolen shawl over her shoulders and had a long look out of the window.

  
Their men were outside, part of them in a barn, because there were not enough rooms to be had in the inn. They were still celebrating the wedding and enjoying themselves in general. Sansa smiled. The men were having a good time, and she didn't begrudge them their rest.

 

When there were heavy steps in the corridor, she pricked up her ears. She recognised them as Tywin's footfall. Was he coming to their room already? Sansa was surprised, but remained where she was and waited on in silence.

  
The room door opened, and she heard Tywin's steps approach her, but she didn't turn around.

  
When she could discern his scent directly behind her, she said in a matter-of-fact tone: “You wanted to pass some time with your son. At least this is what you said.”

  
“His ghost hand has started to hurt. The wound where he's crippled. No more talking tonight.”

  
Sansa wondered if this was some sort of pretext, but it mattered little to her.

 

Tywin was standing right behind her now. He didn't touch her, but she could sense his body heat. A moment later, she could see his hands left and right from her on the windowsill. Still, she didn't turn to face her husband. Their situation remained tense.

  
“Isn't it too cold for you in this state at the window?” Tywin asked.

  
“I'm from the North,” was all Sansa answered.

  
“I'm from the West, and I could do with a bit more warmth,” he complained in a subdued voice, and his breath was hot in her ear.

  
Sansa's heart stuttered.

  
“Put on a cloak then, Tywin,” she answered as if she didn't care one whit.

  
“I've got a better idea,” he murmured.

  
His right hand disappeared from the windowsill, and Sansa could hear her husband fumble on his clothes.

 

 _“What on earth... surely, he can't... we're at the window, and I'm still angry with him!”_ Sansa thought, shocked.

  
Tywin didn't pause, hoisted up the hem of her shift, and a moment later, his stiff member nuzzled her between her thighs. Sansa managed to stifle a squeal, but she did utter a gasp.

  
“You can't do that! People can see us!” she whispered and sounded urgent.

  
“What can I not do?” Tywin purred into her ear. “You haven't lightened a candle, so it's almost dark in here, and the windowsill is high enough – those men down there can't see I'm touching you at all. I'm just standing behind my wife and having a conversation with her.”

  
Meanwhile,his hot length was rubbing along her nether lips in a slow, controlled movement. Back. And forth. It was outrageous – and indeed unobtrusive from below.

  
Sansa fought to control her breathing, yet, she couldn't help but get wet.

 

“Why do you do that?” she hissed at Tywin.

  
“What? This?”

  
The tip of his shaft teased her opening, and it was difficult for Sansa not to moan.

  
“Dearest wife, I'm just enjoying my rights as your husband,” Tywin stated and sounded smug.

  
That enraged Sansa.

  
“Have you forgotten we've had an argument and that I'm still angry with you?” she spat.

 

While Tywin's left hand was still relaxed and where everyone could see it his right one reached around her and started to rub that spot between her folds where she was most sensitive.

  
_Oooh. Ooooh gooods..._

  
Sansa's knees turned into jelly.

  
In her ear, she could hear her husband's voice again: “You've got three choices, Sansa. You can leave me and join the Silent Sisters or another one of these religious groups. Given how hungry and wet you are as a healthy young woman...,”

  
he started to glide into her bit by bit,

  
“I'd imagine you to pick one of the other options. You can hate me but enjoy my cock nevertheless – or my fingers and my mouth, for that matter...,”

  
he was caressing her with his hand again, with tiny little movements that drove her crazy,

  
“or you can forgive me.”

 

He pulled out slowly, and there was a wet noise.

  
Sansa thought she was going to die from feeling empty.

  
“Tywin, forgiving someone normally includes and necessitates the knowledge that the other one has realised he has been wrong. I think that Jaime, for example, has understood his mistake with regard to Bran. He has even given me his sword as a present as some sort of compensation.”

 

Tywin's member glided into her a second time, and she wanted to weep. Actually, further down she did...

  
“Why don't you think of THIS as some sort of compensation, too?”

  
Sansa's fingernails gripped into the windowsill, so difficult was it not to moan loudly and to draw unwanted attention.

  
“You haven't been listening,” she gasped. “As long as I can't see you're sorry –“

  
Tywin's finger danced over her pearl and cut her off. Then, her husband pulled out again.

 

Finally, Sansa turned around and looked at him. He was labouring to control his breathing like she did. Sansa looked down and saw his engorged shaft. It was dark red, pulsating and oozing whitish fluid at its opening.

  
Tywin's eyes looked as if a hurricane had been caught in two emeralds.

  
Sansa made a step to the side so she wasn't right at the window anymore.

  
Her husband followed suit.

  
“I will be very sorry if I don't go on with our tumble right now,” he groaned, pressed her against the wall, wrapped one of her long legs around his hip and slid into her again.

  
Sansa bit her lip and inhaled the musky scent between them. In the new position, it was easy for him to stimulate the other sensitive spot, the one on the inside.

  
Gods. This was sheer bliss. No, it was torture. No, both.

 

It was getting more and more difficult for her to talk, but she said: “If you don't show any remorse, I'll have to choose hating you, but to enjoy THIS. Is that what you want?”

  
Tywin growled: “I want you to come. Again. And again. And again.”

  
With each sentence he thrust into her.

  
It was too much for Sansa, and she peaked with a whimper. Tywin had not even lost control yet – at least with regard to his member.

 

“Have you forgotten how much I love you, Sansa?”

  
His voice was hoarse.

  
Tears pooled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  
She cried: “Feeling the right things doesn't help if you don't do the right things.”

 

The next moment, Tywin pulled out and threw her onto the bed. He looked furious.

  
“I saved your lives, yours and Arya's. I gave up my family. I gave up everything I am and you've got the nerve to lecture me on whether my actions are right or wrong?”

  
He spread her legs and pressed his mouth onto her swollen sex.

  
“Aaaah!” Sansa finally moaned and tried to push his head away, because it was all too much for her.

  
Within a few moments, she climaxed again and sobbed out her relief.

 

Tywin brought his face on one level with hers.

  
“What do you think I should do now? Annul that marriage? Make a fool of myself? Even more of a fool, I mean?”

  
Sansa could barely speak.

  
“Perhaps you should ask Arya... You should ask people about their wishes...”

  
“And what have I just been doing, Sansa?” Tywin wanted to know, his face as red as his shaft.

 

Next, he thrust into her again and pumped and pumped until he flesh quivered a third time. That finally sent him over the edge as well, and he roared out both his release and his frustration. After that, they fell both asleep. Tywin was still fully dressed, apart from one decisive part. Yet, Sansa dozed off with the feeling that he had exposed more of himself than just his skin...


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've become slower with my updates, I know, but I'm not giving up on this story. The beginning of this chapter me a bit like a drip-drip-drip, but I think it picks up some swing at the end. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

The next morning, Sansa awoke with a yawn and stretched like a cat. Some sort of sound had woken her, but she didn't know which one. She turned her head to where it had come from. It was the window.

Oh.

Tywin was standing there, a wet cloth in his hand, looking out of the window as if something interesting was going on in the court... and he was naked as his nameday. He was by no means a young man anymore, the hair on his chest was more grey than golden and his skin a bit softer in some places than it must have been two decades before; there were also a few age spots on his skin... but he was still muscled, lean and fit. Despite his age, he looked better than many younger men, Sansa felt.

She also remembered what they had done at the window the previous evening, couldn't avoid to look at his exposed private parts and blushed. If she was honest, her body was getting ready for more, no matter how sated it had been the past night. It was still true that intimacy was the easiest part of their relationship.

 

Either Tywin had not noticed she had awoken, or he didn't care. Instead, he continued to wash himself, and Sansa could watch the wet trail of the damp piece of cloth on his skin. The process made her wet, too, though his movements were precise as always and not meant to arouse her.

 

There were sounds from the yard again, and now, Sansa understood it was the clatter of metal upon metal.

“What's going on there?” she asked in a drowsy voice.

Tywin turned for a moment.

“It's the two young spouses hacking at each other with cold steel.”

“What!?”

 

Within a moment, Sansa was at the window – or at least as far as she dared to get in her state of undress.

Just at that moment, there was a dark chuckle outside.

Edric and and Arya were wearing light armour and circling each other, swords in hand... with fat grins on their faces.

“Will the skinny little wolf woman dare to charge?” Edric asked.

And Arya shot back: “Will my husband land on his back again, because he can't deal with Wolf's Howl?”

In a flurry of quick blows Arya attacked her bridegroom, and he fended her off. Both were panting. And laughing.

 

Sansa's eyes were wide.

“I can't believe this!” she breathed.

“They're having the fun of their life,” Tywin said at her side.

He sounded smug.

“I hope they really haven't... you know...,” Sansa said.

Tywin answered: “A woman sore from her wedding night would hardly move this agile the next morning. Speaking of sore – how are you?”

“Fine. And you? Interested to sheathe your sword again?”

 

Tywin arched an eyebrow.

“My lady of a wife is getting bold these days. But no, I've just washed myself, and I've had my share of a joust last night. Of course, I could serve my Lady Wife otherwise.”

“Since when do you serve?”

Sansa's husband looked put out.

“I've served the realm as the King's Hand for years on end. Serving can be very agreeable. As long as I get something out of it.”

“What would you get out of serving me, husband?”

“The enjoyment of witnessing your peak.”

Sansa mimicked Tywin's arching of his eyebrow.

“That would be mutually satisfactory then.”

Moments later, they were together on the bed, and Tywin served her in the most competent way. Judging by the expression in his green eyes he was indeed getting a lot out of the process...

 

Later, when they were taking the steps down the staircase Sansa knew she couldn't hate her husband. She could be angry with him, she could be disappointed about his flaws, especially his lack of compassion, but not more. And she found herself disgusting because of that – it gave her the feeling she was betraying Arya, for example.

“I have always been the weaker one of the two of us sisters,” she thought.

 

Arya, however, seemed to bear no grudge against her. Apparently, she didn't even think of how her marriage had come about. Sansa's sibling was in high spirits when they joined her in the common room.

“Wolf's Howl is just sooo great, Sansa! I could have never wielded father's Ice – though I would have always honoured it, of course. But this sword... it's like magic in my hand! I can't wait to carry it through the gates of Winterfell.”

On and on Arya prattled. Edric was sitting at her side, grinning, and whenever she didn't look he made faces behind her back. At some point, Arya started to suspect something, and it earned the young man an elbow in his stomach.

Sansa could barely stifle some giggles. Of course, Tywin was a bit of a grinch again and looked at them as if he considered them all silly loons.

 

Turning serious, Arya asked him: “By the way – when are we going to leave this inn?”

Tywin answered: “Tomorrow. I'll have one more day with my son.”

Arya listened, tipped a finger against her nose in thought, then shrugged and accepted his decision. More than that, her impish grin returned.

“I heard your son and his wife argue in the morning. Perhaps it's good I didn't kill him. Looks like Brienne of Tarth my be more of a punishment at times.”

Sansa cut in then: “Lady Brienne seems to be a nice woman.”

“Pffft,” Arya made and waved her hand in a dismissive way. “Being nice doesn't exclude occasionally being a pain in the a...”

“Manners!” Sansa called.

Edric only laughed and teased Arya by saying to Sansa: “Oh, but I know what my wife wants to say. After all, I'm in the same situation like Ser Jaime.”

“You! Stupid man!” Arya called, punched him, and Edric laughed even more.

“Speaking of the devils from the seven hells,” Sansa said, smiling, and pointed with her chin.

 

The Kingslayer and his wife entered, still debating about something. Brienne was carrying her little son, who was sleeping.

They were followed by Kevan and his wife Dorna. Those two looked relaxed, and they smiled at the others.

 

After the – already rather late – breakfast, there was more training in the yard. Arya and Brienne accompanied the men, so Sansa and Lady Dorna followed the others and watched them from a distance.

It turned out Edric needed better training, but he was fierce and stubborn. Talented.

Ser Jaime was only mediocre with his left hand, but that didn't stop him from having lots of fun with his wife.

“It takes time to get better. Years. But I have already improved a lot, and a Lion of L... Tarth doesn't give up,” he said in between rounds.

Since Ser Kevan was portly he wasn't as agile as he could have been, but even so, one could tell he wasn't one to fool around with.

Arya did what she could, and she had an odd fighting style, Sansa found. Her sister called it “water dancing”, whatever that meant.

 

The two most apt ones were Tywin and Lady Brienne. At first, Tywin refused to spar with her. Only when he realised she was the only worthy opponent did he relent.

The fight that ensued was an epic one. Sansa was thrilled against her will. Metal clashed upon metal, so intensely that sparks could be seen where the blades met. Both of them hacked at each other, wheeled around at top speed, they drove each other back with their shields, and neither granted each other a single inch.

 

In the end, it was a stalemate fight and they finished, both panting heavily and bleeding from several shallow cuts. There was applause all around. It was obvious Tywin looked at his gooddaughter with new respect – he even gave her a short nod.

 

Sansa was relieved that her husband hadn't been wounded, apart from the normal scratches in a training sword fight. As soon as he had taken off his armour she approached him and took his elbow.

“I'll have to admire some interesting bruises tonight,” she said.

“I'm in for all sorts of admiration,” Tywin answered, and Sansa's eyebrows rose.

Her husband sounded serious like always, but she was willing to swear he was enjoying himself.

However, she didn't react to his comment and rather said: “Let's clean your cuts. No need to risk an infection.”

 

They were just about to enter the inn when there were sudden excited calls in the yard. At once, they turned around.

Sansa noticed Tywin become rigid. His teeth started to press together.

She could understand him – she tensed herself as well. Her heartbeat quickened and bile rose in her throat.

 

In the south, high up in the air, there was a huge, dark, winged shape to be seen in the sky. And it was flying straight into their direction.


	60. - Mini chapter -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I've got so much stress at the moment that I can't write a full chapter. I just want to get you off the cliff.

It was the green dragon, not the even bigger black monster. Yet, this point was cold comfort for Sansa.

  
She narrowed her eyes.

  
"There's someone riding on that dragon," she said.

 

"Mhm," Tywin growled at her side in agreement. "Must be one of the queen's sidekicks. What now? Haven't I been punished enough?"

  
Sansa was asking herself the same.

 

The dragon came closer. Slowly, details came into focus: the actual size of the beast, the scales, the talons... and...

  
Sansa's eyes became big and round from one moment to the next.

  
Simultaneously, Tywin palmed his face.

 

"No. Looks like the dragon woman thinks I have NOT been punished enough."

  
On hearing these words, Sansa couldn't help herself, but started to giggle in a hysterious way. Her husband glared daggers at her.

 

The dragon landed in the yard of the inn, so the reverberations could be felt through the soles.

  
The other people pointed at the rider and chattered like overstrung geese. Meanwhile, the rider clambered off the dragon...

  
...and the next moment, the scaly monster took to the air again.

  
The rider was grinning, approached Sansa and Tywin with easily recognizable movements and said: "Hello Sansa. And hello father. Didn't think you'd see me again, did you? And even alive and kicking. Or waddling, rather, as usual. Won't you come over and welcome your youngest child?"


	61. Chapter 61

Of course, Jaime had to emerge from inside at that moment. He greeted Tyrion with laughter and by clapping him on the back.

“Ah, little brother, I fear they don't have Arbor gold here, but they do have some decent beer. Come in and let's down a tankard. I want to know what brought you here – and on a dragon, no less! You must absolutely tell us the latest news.”

 

Tywin scowled at the two. He had never understood how Jaime was able to love the disfigured little monster Tyrion was. Yet, if he was honest he did want to know what Tyrion had to say about what he had experienced in the meantime. Of course, the little gargoyle would try to hurt him wherever he could – that was a given.

Tywin curled his upper lip in what other people would have called “gallow's humour” and thought: “Well, there is no Lannister family Tyrion can shame with his bare existence anymore. He must be rejoicing I've turned out to be the greater danger for our family name.”

 

Tywin was a bit cross when Sansa welcomed Tyrion with warm words, just like Jaime. Sansa's gentle heart was showing again. But though Tywin didn't like her attitude he didn't reprimand her for it. It wouldn't have helped in any way to do so.

 

Together, they entered the inn and went to the side room where Tywin had met Jaime and Kevan before. Speaking of Kevan – Tywin's brother and his wife appeared and greeted Tyrion, too. It was surprising that Dorna was present on the spot, because she normally didn't press herself on others. There was also one other thing that struck Tywin as odd: after all those years of marriage Kevan and his wife had grown so much closer again of late. As if they were in the early days of a blooming love. Very weird. One only had to look at how Kevan kept shooting Dorna warm side glances as if she were the most beautiful woman in the room (which she would have never been, not even in her youth).

 

Tywin shrugged and focused on Tyrion again.

As soon as his disfigured son had been served some beer he started to prattle: “The Un-Lannister family has reunited. Or almost reunited. How very fascinating to meet under such altered preconditions.”

He laughed and Tywin would have liked to shellack the nasty little creature to wipe that impish grin from his face.

Meanwhile, Tyrion pressed a finger against his lips as if he had to consider something.

Then, he said: “Perhaps I should tell you first that it's incredible to fly on the back of a dragon. My most wondrous experience ever – in a long list of... not exactly wonderful, but at least interesting experiences.”

 

Tywin was close to be sick against the wall. How could anyone in his right mind be thrilled in a positive way about riding a dragon!? Then again, considering the disgusting heap of misery Tyrion was it could hardly come as a surprise.

 

At that moment, Sansa asked, eyes wide open: “Oh, I can imagine that! To be able to see Westeros from above! Though I can't say I like dragons, having been threatened to get burned by one.”

Tyrion nodded in answer to that: “That's understandable. I heard Lord Baelish put on a bit of a show when the queen had had him roasted.”

“Can't say I'm compassionate when it comes to that little man,” Tywin commented.

Tyrion looked at him and answered: “No, indeed not, you're not compassionate with regard to little men. Or in general.”

Tywin stared at Tyrion and Tyrion stared back.

People around seemed to be interested in the dirt under their fingernails all of a sudden.

 

Tywin broke the tension by asking: “How did it come to pass that you're here now?”

“Ah. That.”

Tyrion waved his hand.

“I had just arrived at my... destination. You will remember this little thing about having to travel to Oldtwon, won't you?”

“Indeed, I do, because your stay was well-deserved.”

Jaime cut in: “Father...”

But Tyrion only laughed.

“Brother, let it be. Our sire won't change his opinion about me anymore.”

“Certainly not,” Tywin emphasised.

 

Tyrion sighed and looked at him.

“There are these moments when I'd love to shoot a crossbow at you, do you know that, father? Ah, but of course you do – and it's no hair off your arse.”

Tywin bristled at the wording, but Sansa put a hand on his forearm, and he kept quiet.

 

Tyrion followed that little non-verbal exchange and grinned. Tywin's fist was truly itching to meet its goal now.

“Anyway, DEAREST father, let's get back to Oldtown. As I was saying: I had just arrived when Queen Daenaerys came to the city with her dragons. The people acknowledged her claim as the new monarch at once. Very intelligent with regard to saving lives. Now. I was summoned to the queen, and I bowed and did everything I needed to do to survive. I guess she found me pretty wormy, but at least I became no dragon snack. That's preferable, if you ask me.”

 

Kevan asked: “And the queen sent you north on one of her dragons?”

Tyrion nodded.

“She found the idea of me being a pain in father's arse entertaining, I think.”

It was then that Tywin lost control and lashed out. In the past, he had not needed to resort to such measures personally, having had servants and allegiances aplenty. But ever since his last days in the capital things had changed, and as a consequence, his nerves were frayed.

 

The smacking sound reverberated in the room, and Tyrion's lip started to bleed. The little gargoyle stared at him in surprise. The silence that ensued was deafening.

Being a military man, Tywin knew when a tactical withdrawal was the only useful option. He rose from his seat and made for the door.

 

He heard Tyrion call after him: “I mean to go with Jaime, you know? To Tarth. I'm many things, but I'm not suicidal enough to want to live in Winterfell with you. Or willing to freeze off my balls. Oh, and here's a message from Cersei. Queen Daenaerys handed it to me.”

 

Tywin froze in the door frame, but didn't turn around. Sansa handed him the slip of paper. Jaime approached him, too, and read over his shoulder once he had unfolded the paper.

 

“Father. Brother.  
You may have forgotten our family – what it means to be a Lannister. You have condemned and neglected me. Jaime, you are said to be such a good father now, I have heard. You? A good father? How can that be, the way you're behaving. After all, you've got more than one child, but you seem to have forgotten your Lannister offspring.  
However, I see that my complaints are useless. I am leaving. Just in case you can bring up enough energy to ask yourselves where I might be heading... Well. Wherever mothers go.  
Cersei.”

 

Tywin heard Jaime's sharp intake of breath. He himself crumpled the piece of paper, pressed it into his elder son's good hand and left without turning around.


	62. Chapter 62

Once his father had disappeared, Tyrion looked a bit sheepish and asked: “Erm... have I just won a round against my father?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, partly because she was a bit worried about her husband, and answered: “I wouldn't call it 'winning'.”

That caused Tyrion to grin while he was dabbing at his lip with a handkerchief, and to retort: “You mean – not 'winning', but 'tywinning'?”

 

Sansa didn't feel like laughing. Nobody did.

Instead, Jaime asked, holding up the crumpled paper with his good hand: “How did you get this paper? Did you learn anything else of Cersei's whereabouts?”

 

Tyrion pouted a little, because his jest had not been received well, but he answered: “The queen's lover handed it to me right before I left. I didn't get any further information about how the message had reached them, and I didn't ask. I was busy being fascinated to get a chance at riding a dragon.”

 

Sansa said: “We may not know how these lines reached the court of the queen, but it's clear enough to see where Cersei is heading. She will either try to reach Myrcella or to find Tommen.”

 

Tyrion snorted.

“I'm trying to imagine how the Dornish would receive her in case she'd show up there. That would turn out to be MOST interesting. By the way – where IS Tommen?”

So Sansa explained: “When the castle was attacked by the dragons we sent Tommen with Ser Loras to Essos. I had heard rumours that Sandor Clegane is fighting for the “Company of the Rose” now. We hoped he'd take Tommen under his wings.”

 

For a moment, Tyrion just stared at Sansa. Then, he burst into laughter and slapped his thighs.

“Now that's a good joke, if I've ever heard one. The crabby ol' Hound taking care of Tommen? Let me remember... didn't the canine giant bastard sort of... betray House Lannister?”

 

Sansa's gaze was steely.

She said: “Tommen isn't you. Or Joffrey. I do have a feeling that Sandor Clegane will look after him.”

Tyrion bent forward then and looked at her with his mismatched eyes.

“How come you think you know enough about the Hound to be able to assess his reactions?”

 

Sansa answered: “As a matter of fact – I can't say for sure he'll accept Tommen as some sort of... ward. But he saved me on the day of the Bread Riots. In his crude way, he tried to give me some advice over time. And he helped save Ser Dontos. So I hope he'll find it in him to take care of Tommen.”

 

Tyrion pursed his lips.

“Would be interesting to watch Cersei try to reclaim her son under those circumstances.”

Jaime was annoyed.

“Will you stop fantasising about our sister's possible problems in such a shrewish way? I don't think you...”

 

BANG!

And the door flew open. Arya strutted in, Edric and Ser Jorah in tow.

“Imp! So you're really here,” Arya called.

Tyrion waved his hand dismissively.

“No need to raise your wolfish hackles, Lady Arya. Not going to pester you with my presence. I'll be leaving with Jaime for Tarth.”

Arya only asked back: “Have you just pestered your father's presence?”

Tyrion grinned.

“That I have.”

“In that case, I won't try to gut you. Have you already heard you're going to have a half-sibling?”

 

Sansa looked heavenwards. She wanted the stay in this inn to be over.

And now, Tyrion was waddling over to her.

“You're with child, Sansa? Whoa. Now that's... that's really some news. If the baby turns out to be a dwarf like me – can I be his or her godfather?”

Sansa knitted her brows.

“I don't know what Tywin would say to that... but in that specific case I guess he wouldn't object.”

Tyrion sounded a bit strange when he said: “I heard... I mean... father hasn't changed towards me, but I was told in the capital... Did he really choose you over the Lannister name?”

“He did.”

Ser Jorah nodded along so as to make a point on the queen's behalf.

 

Now, Tyrion was looking at Sansa with sadness in his uneven eyes.

He said: “I wish you had been born and had married father some good fifteen years earlier.”

Was that a nod Sansa detected on Kevan's part? And on Dorna's? Oh, well, whatever.

There was little she could say to Tyrion's statement, so she murmured: “I'll go and look after Tywin.”

With those words, she turned and left.

 

Sansa's feet took her upstairs, to her bedroom. She hadn't been sure where to look for her husband first, but her intuition was right: Tywin was sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees, fingertips pressed together, and staring into nothingness.

Sansa approached him from her own side of the bed, wrapped her arms around his middle, leaned her face against Tywin's back and inhaled his scent. For a while, they were silent together.

Then, Tywin murmured: “You know... I had a family once. A good wife and sweet little children. It was a good feeling. I want to have it again. This feeling, I mean. Only this time I'd be content with a daughter. If she were like you, that is.”

 

Sansa's heart clenched with warm emotions. She gave Tywin a kiss on the nape of his neck.

“I'm looking forward to our child,” she breathed.

Her husband answered: “Well, I am not. Not really. Not as long as I can't be sure you'll survive the birthing process.”

Sansa's hands wandered under Tywin's tunic, found warm skin there, and she put her fingers onto his heart.

 

After another long, silent moment, Tywin said: “I mean to have you again tonight. I'm an old man, and I prefer the comfort of a warm bed to a cot in a flimsy tent.”

Sansa smiled against his back and teased one of his nipples with her fingers.

“The last time I participated in these activities you needed neither bed nor much cover. If I remember correctly, a windowsill and a wall were included in the first round.”

Tywin growled, and his nipple hardened.

“I wasn't talking about possibilities. I was talking about preferences. And despite the comfort I'll be happy to leave this inn tomorrow. Too much family woe here for my taste.”

 

Sansa nodded against the back of her husband in deep understanding. However, her thoughts became gradually less organised – anti-proportionally so to her growing focus in what her hand was feeling. Her fingers slipped beneath Tywin's waistband.  
That earned her another growl – but this time, it sounded far more pleased.

The breathing of both of them deepened. The situation was getting out of hand. But only the situation. After all, Tywin's presence was too substantial to get out of hand...

 

The episode helped them to regain their composure. To gather their strength to go down later on and to meet the family again.

In the morning, their entourage packed their things. The spouses said farewell to Jaime and to all those who'd move on to Tarth, and they themselves headed for Winterfell again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see I've managed to find some more time for writing this weekend. I really wanted to finish the stay in the Inn at the Crossroads. so here we are... Hope you don't mind it got a bit abrupt at the end of the chapter.


	63. Chapter 63

Tywin could smell the north in the air. It was getting noticeably cooler – and the landscape didn't get any more attractive, to put it like that.

To his surprise, however, Sansa started to change in line with the growing proximity to their destination. Tywin wondered whether she noticed it herself. One point was the slight rounding of her belly. That was only to be expected, of course, but there was also something else, and it was easy to describe.

Sansa looked... younger, somehow. In King's Landing, she had usually appeared to be a somewhat ageless queen with a formal composure, as if she were wearing an invisible coat of armour. Especially before their marriage and especially in public.

 

Now, Sansa started to relax: her shoulders were less stiff, her laughter frequent and careless. Her wonderful auburn mane hung down loose, instead of being arranged in a complicated southron style. And most of all... she showed her affection for him openly. And constantly.

One evening, Tywin was standing in front of his tent, for example – and from one moment to the next, slender arms wrapped around his middle, and her warm, lithe body pressed against his back.

“Are we alone and in our bedroom?” he grumbled.

That earned him a giggle.

“Don't be such a broomstick, Tywin! I love you, and everyone may see it. We're not in the capital with all its evil gossip.”

“Arya may still get a brain dysfunction.”

“Since when do you care about my sister?”

That had shut him up effectively.

 

Slowly, it dawned on Tywin just how good it was for Sansa to come home after such a long time. And the north WAS her home. He wouldn't have sworn an oath on it before, but now he could tell it was the truth.

 

If only he could say the same. His ageing bones didn't particularly approve of the changing climate. He though of Jaime and Tyrion and wondered, if they'd be happier on this gods-forsaken island. He also thought that Jaime still possessed his tongue, in contrast to what the Dragon Queen had ordered.

Tywin guessed that in the hubbub of tearing out the whole Lannister family by the roots and of tearing down Casterly Rock the individual tearing out of a Kingslayer's tongue had somehow been forgotten. Ah, but Tywin would be the last one to enlighten Daenaerys about this “mistake”. After all, Jaime was incompetent when it came to writing, he already lacked a hand, so he should better not lose another part of himself before his death. Hopefully, Daenaerys would never notice the truth.

 

Tywin also had a good eye on Kevan and Dorna. His goodsister didn't take overly well to the long voyage, and she was a bit worried, if she could pray to the Seven in the north like she was want to do. When Sansa told her that that wouldn't be a problem, that there was even a sept in Winterfell, Dorna was relieved and pulled herself together.

After all, she had to look after her daughter Janei, who was into all sorts of pranks, which was annoying to say the least. One day, Tywin found someone had smeared honey onto his saddle. At first, he had suspected Arya Stark, but then, he had had to find out it had been his impish niece. Worse than that, Tywin had ordered a punishment, but Arya had taken back is order, telling him she appreciated Janei's attitude.

Ser Jorah, the spineless bastard, had decided it was the parents who had to decide on what should be done about the matter, and it all ended in a mild punishment. At night, Tywin had to fuck out his frustration on Sansa. At least his wife didn't object to his mode of action.

 

Arya and Edric seemed to be happy. They were best friends and trained together as if Arya were a man. Her husband had no problem with Arya's tomboyish nature and gave her all the freedom she wanted. And Edric still seemed to stay true to his word not to bed the Stark girl.

Tywin huffed. The way the Baratheon bastard treated Arya was not what the old lion had had in mind when he had chosen the youngster as her bridegroom. Then again, nothing went the way it should anymore. He could only hope that at least Sansa would give birth to a healthy child and would stay alive in the process.

 

One morning, he woke up in his tent, still entwined with his wife, when he noticed that the weather had turned foul. It was raining outside, and a cold wind reached to their cot with icy fingers.  
“Oh, great. Just what we needed,” Tywin thought and made a sour face.

He knew that travelling wouldn't be nice under these circumstances. In the past, he had led a soldier's life and had learned to endure certain incommodities, but he found he didn't have to like rain that was bordering on sleet.

 

As it turned out, the bad mood spread amongst the travelling party like wildfire, so the nasty morning turned into a nasty day. Sansa complained about heartburns and pain in her back, while Arya seemed to have her moon blood and to be suffering from that. Tywin curled his lips. Could it get any worse?

 

Well.

 

It was in the early afternoon, and they were passing through woodland when there was suddenly a hissing noise from somewhere above.

The next moment, Ser Jorah sank forward on his horse. After a few steps, he fell out of the saddle. An arrow protruded from between his shoulder blades. He hadn't been wearing his armour for once, and now, he was paying the price.

The knight had been silent, so quick and precise had the attack been. Sansa, however, screamed at the top of her lungs.

Edric dashed over to Ser Jorah. A sad shake of his head indicated that it was already too late.

 

Tywin tensed. Damn. To fell a man with just one arrow indicated the mastery of the archer.

Worse than that: Sansa was in danger!

“Down!” he called, pulled Sansa out of the saddle and pressed her to the ground, right under a big bush.

Meanwhile, Arya, Kevan and some servants turned their horses and tried to persecute the attacker.

Tywin's heart hammered like mad.

“Sansa!” he thought. “I won't let them shoot her! I WON'T.”

And without a moment's hesitation he brought his own body between his wife and any possible attacker. He was wearing light armour and Tywin hoped it would be enough to keep them both safe.


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not having answered all comments yet, but over the last days I didn't even get enough sleep. And the first thing I did on having a pause... was to write a new chapter!
> 
> Show!watchers may not understand the reference to Gerion Lannister. If you're interested to find out more... http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Gerion_Lannister

Luckily, he was a man of war: he was able to gather his wits quickly, to think on his feet, and he had a good intuition. Tywin cast a glance over to the fallen knight.

 

“It was only one well-aimed shot. Nothing more. The attack was directed at Ser Jorah. And only at him.”

 

Tywin relaxed and thus allowed Sansa more air for breathing.

 

At once, she asked him: “Do you think the ambush is already over?”

He nodded.

“I think this was an assassination attempt, and a successful one at that, but it had nothing to do with us – only with HIM.”

He pointed with his thumb, then went on: “Are you all right? You and... the baby?”

 

Tywin could notice Sansa focus on her body.

“I feel shaky. My knees are wobbly. But my knees are not my belly. At the moment, I seem to be all right.”

Somewhere deep inside a huge stone rolled off Tywin's heart.

 

After another long moment, they both dared to stand up. They walked over to the knight's body while all their senses were still alert, just in case. Luckily, Sansa didn't make a fuss.

She did say, though: “He always wanted to see the north again. That much I knew from him.”

 

Tywin uttered a little snort.

“Jorah was a miserable sidekick without his dragon queen. Ah, look! There's a tiny piece of paper attached to the arrow. A message, if I'm not senile from old age yet.”

Sansa knelt at once and loosened the paper with quick, careful movements that showed she didn't want to touch the dead body.

She unfurled the message and read: “The North Remembers.”

 

Tywin arched an eyebrow.

Sansa paled and said: “You may know that my father sentenced him to death for trading slaves many years ago. Looks like some northerners were still angry with him, even after all this time.”

 

Tywin stretched his limbs.

“He'd have made a poor Warden of the North. He wouldn't have had a chance. The good question is now: was he killed by his own people, or by someone who hopes to gain something from his death?”

“Yes, maybe the Mormonts did have a finger in this, but I can't imagine them to be so sneaky. They'd normally prefer an open battle, as far as I know. Who do you think could profit from this attack?”

Tywin weighed his head. Sansa wrapped her arms around his middle.

 

He mused: “The queen will not be amused about Ser Jorah's death. I fear we'll see a dragon in Winterfell soon enough, and we'll have to answer to her with regard to this incident. Even if we're lucky and don't get punished I'm convinced Daenaerys won't make Arya Warden of the North. So which other family could profit from the situation?”

 

Sansa's hands flew to her mouth.

“The Manderlys! They've always been loyal to the Starks and would want to carry out my father's order. The Mermen also reside more towards the south, so this road here is more easily accessible for them than for the Mormonts. And... do you think they're aspiring to become Wardens of the North?”

Tywin shrugged and answered: “All I can say is: loyalty is a fickle thing. People you deem your friends may become your enemies if they think they can gain an upper hand.”

In answer to that, Sansa pressed herself against him even more, and Tywin allowed himself to trail a finger through her auburn tresses.

 

Just at that moment, a bush across the clearing rustled. At once, they both tensed. Tywin grabbed for his sword.

It turned out, however, that there was nothing to fear: Dorna and Janei emerged from behind the bush. They had leaves in their hair and dirt on their clothes, but otherwise, they looked perfectly all right. Janei even seemed to think it was all a big, exciting adventure and was grinning from ear to ear.

Tywin murmured: “A golden-haired miniature version of your hellion of a sister. If I didn't know her to be of Lannister breed...”

 

While they were talking, Janei's happy face turned dark, and she called: “Uncle Jorah! Uncle Jorah! What's wrong with you!?”

Tywin turned shot a glance at the dead knight and mumbled: “The Seven help me! When did that bastard reach the status of an uncle in the girl's mind?”

Sansa whispered back: “I think he told her many stories from Essos over the last weeks.”

Tywin flinched. Damn. One Gerion in the family was enough. They didn't need a second Lannister to disappear for good because of an obscure quest on another continent.

 

Finally, Dorna and Janei arrived where they were, and Tywin's goodsister explained to the girl: “Ser Jorah is dead, I'm sorry, love. But you don't have to be sad, because his soul is in the seven heavens now.”

Tywin rolled his eyes at the woman's words, but bit his tongue. Given how Janei started to squeal like an anguished cat and how tears and snot were running down her face within moments it was probably better not to make things worse. Mollycoddled girl. If his goodsister went on keeping harsh truths from her daughter Janei would grow up to become a very naïve girl – instead of a lion-spirited one.

 

Naturally, Dorna, ever the pious woman, had to take things even a step further. She sank to her knees and started to pray for Ser Jorah. And Sansa had to chime in, of course. Bleh.

 

Tywin let the women do what they felt they needed to do and rather looked around. There were trees and underbrush everywhere. Not good. A perfect place for both an ambush and a flight.

Tywin bared his teeth. His hair stood on end. His intuition signalled that they were being watched now.

“Sansa! Dorna! Janei! Quiet!” he ordered.

The women obeyed without questioning; they understood the tone of his voice. Only the weeping girl was still hiccuping.

Tywin looked here and there, but he couldn't pinpoint where the possible danger was hidden.

 

Then, there were hooves to be heard, and their clop-clop-clop drowned all other noises. Tywin thought he heard the rustle of some leaves somewhere, but he couldn't be sure. He swore under his breath. The members of the travelling party were coming back.

 

Tywin looked at his wife and said: “Well, Joanna, with them around we should be safe now.”

That earned him a confused glance.

“I'm Sansa, Tywin.”

He frowned.

“Didn't I say so?”

Sansa shook her head.

“You called me Joanna.”

Tywin knitted his brows even more.

“This whole episode is confusing, I tell you. Let's bury Ser Jorah and see to it that we travel on a bit before we make camp. And tomorrow morning, we can sleep a little longer. That will do us good. Winterfell won't run away from us.”

 

The others appeared on the spot, and it was clear at once that they had caught no-one.

“I should have gone on the hunt myself,” Tywin thought.

Over the next hours, they were all tense and frustrated. Ser Jorah was duly buried. Apart from another prayer and from Tywin explaining his and Sansa's theories about the assassination there wasn't much talk.

 

When they had finally put up their tents unusually late that night they were relieved that there had been no further attack. Sansa and Tywin retreated to their cots... when the canvas hood at the opening flapped open.

“Auntie Sansa?”

It was Janei. Had nobody told the girl you didn't enter someone else's tent without asking? It was sheer luck that he and Sansa were still fully dressed and not already doing what he was having in mind.

His wife was surprised like himself, but answered: “Yes, my dear, what is it? Are you all right?”

 

Janei put her finger into her mouth.

“Mummy is sad. About Ser Jorah. But... I can't sleep. I... I'm frightened. Can I sleep here?”

Tywin opened his mouth to send the girl on her way, but Sansa was quicker.

“Why, of course, my dear! That's sweet of you that you don't want to disturb your mother. Come here!”

“She'll be sleeping on YOUR cot, wife,” Tywin growled.

He had never allowed his children to sleep in the marriage bed, apart from the first few months after Joanna had given birth to the twins and had wanted them close. To host his brother's daughter for a sleepover was outrageous. It meant his intentions for the night were being shredded to pieces.

The girl, by contrary, was enthusiastic. It was clear she had come to like Sansa a lot, now that his wife and Dorna were becoming friends.

 

With some more internal growling, Tywin lay down on his cot, turned his back on Sansa and Janei and was soon sound asleep. He woke up at night from a pressure on his bladder. Tywin opened his eyes and realised that the pressure was only half caused by the fact that he needed to relieve himself. The other reason was a warm little body half on top of his torso, and there was a pudgy little hand balled on his chest. Janei had obviously changed sides in her sleep and thought him to be a worthy cushion.

 

“What on earth...!?” Tywin thought. “When did I turn into a toy lion for cuddling?”

He let out his breath between clenched teeth. Next, he put Janei back onto Sansa's cot. Both kept on sleeping, but the girl embraced his wife at once while slumbering on.

 

Tywin left the tent and followed his nature behind a tree. To his immense worry, he had the feeling of being watched again. Yet, he met no problems on his way back to the camp.

He addressed the guard on duty: “I've got the feeling that somebody is out there. Be careful.”

The guard nodded and looked worried, too. Tywin knew the man would be extra careful from now on.

 

Back in the tent, he lay down again. At first, he was too nervous to fall asleep once more. But after a while, the exhaustion of the day took its toll, and he drifted off again...  
… only to be awoken by a shrill scream around the hour of the wolf.

 

Both he and Sansa shot up from their cots, and Janei whimpered in fear.

“That's Arya!” Sansa called and pressed a hand onto her mouth.

In the darkness, his wife looked even paler than usual, and Tywin grabbed his sword with one swift motion, agitation already pumping through his veins.

Damn! His senses had not betrayed him. He made for the tent opening. If they were under attack, he'd protect what was his, and if it was the last thing he was doing!


	65. Chapter 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the mother of all cliffhangers...

The first thing he thought when he left the tent and saw his crisp breathing in the air was: “Sweet Mother, it's so cold up here at night, even in spring!”

  
But then, he focused on Arya's tent at once. It was on the other side of the camp, and there was already quite a bit of a hubbub going on there. Worse than that, he saw the dark shape of something huge moving there, something like a monster on all fours. And there was an unearthly, dark, vicious snarl that could turn a lesser man's blood to ice. His men were there, too, swords drawn and hollering and shouting, Edric included.

 

“NOOO!”

  
That was Arya's voice. Tywin felt sicker than he thought he could ever feel for his tomboyish goodsister and darted in the direction of the pandemonium.

  
Arya yelled again, this time: “Don't! Don't!”

  
This was accompanied by more snarling.

 

Finally, Tywin arrived at the site with long strides. And stopped dead in his tracks.

  
The monster he had spotted was the biggest wolf he had ever seen. It was grey, as big as a smaller pony... and apparently in a very bad mood.

  
Yellow eyes flashed, saliva was dripping off it's muzzle, the grey fur was standing on end at the collar, and it was growling at the guards, who were obviously close to pissing themselves in fear. For once, Tywin couldn't be angry with them, given the nightmarish beast in front of them.

 

What didn't fit into the picture, however, was that Arya was at the animal's side and embracing it and weeping.

  
“What on earth...?” called Tywin. And next: “Arya, step away from that monster!”

  
His goodsister didn't take well to that order.

  
“NO! That's no monster. That's Nymeria! She's my direwolf! And your men will kill her if I leave her side.”

 

Tywin felt as if something had hit him hard. His head was spinning.

  
A direwolf? A real direwolf!? And Arya's pet!?

  
Besides, he wasn't quite so sure who'd win in a fight – his men or the furred monster.

 

After a short moment, he fought to regain his senses and asked Arya: “And what about this... Nymeria, as you call her? Won't she kill my men? Don't we have to defend ourselves?”

  
Arya shot back: “You can be happy you're smelling of my sister. Otherwise you'd already be dead. She's confused whether you're pack or not. You better give her a reason to believe the former, or she'll tear off your balls and then right into your throat.”

  
As if the blasted wolf wanted to make a point, she bared her fangs even more than she was doing already.

 

“Thanks for the vivid depiction of this alternative,” Tywin snarled back.

  
But before he could say another word, Sansa flew past him like an excited bird.

  
“Nymeria!” she called. “Nymeria!”

  
There were sobs in her voice. She was so fast that Tywin didn't even manage to grasp her arm to hold her back. His heart missed a beat when his wife threw herself at the vicious predator.

  
At the back of his mind, Tyrion's unbidden voice commented: “The same policy she's applying to you.”

  
Tywin hissed to shove these thoughts aside.

 

 

“Sansa! Come back!” he ordered.

  
Only Sansa was beyond hearing him: she had buried her face in the wolf's fur... and Nymeria started to whine, she relaxed and tried to lick Sansa. When she found Arya's face was closer she washed her instead. Arya squealed again, but this time, it was in sheer delight.

 

Tywin lowered his sword, lest the others notice his hand was trembling. His men took it as a sign to relax as well.

 

Edric managed to ask: “THIS is your direwolf?”

 

“Yes! Look! Isn't she lovely?”

 

Arya was beyond herself, but Tywin would have found many other words for the huge beast, and none of them would have been so charming.

 

 

Yet, it looked as if the wolf wouldn't tear his wife to pieces, and although he was still nervous, he allowed himself to breathe deeply. If only it weren't so cold in the north he might even thought on whether things were actually getting interesting.

 

 

But then, Nymeria looked at him again, her ears flattened, and she growled and bared her fangs once more while her tail moved between her legs. Sansa looked up.

 

“Nymeria! What is it? This is Tywin, my husband. He belongs to me. You mustn't hurt him!”

 

Arya commented: “Looks like she remembers Joffrey's and Jaime's and Cersei's scent, and your husband is of the same blood.”

 

 

Tywin would have liked to comment on that with the acid response Arya deserved... but he never got that far.

 

Out of the blue, cold hands grabbed him from behind. Tywin's reflexes set in at once, and he tried to free himself, but wasn't completely successful. At least, he managed to swing around and to face his opponent.

  
To his absolute shock, he looked right into Ser Jorah Mormont's face. It was dirty from the ground he had been buried in. And his eyes were a cold, unearthly crystal colour.

 

 

Sansa screamed. For once, Arya did the same, but Tywin couldn't focus on that. He noticed that Ser Jorah's Hands were black. Next, Tywin shoved his sword into the apparently undead man. No reaction from the other one's side whatsoever.

 

“Shit. He can't be hurt anymore!” Tywin thought and did something he had never been prone to: he panicked.

 

Within the blink of an eye, Ser Jorah had grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air with inhuman strength. Tywin felt a pressure build behind his eyes, and he tried to breathe. It was useless. His lungs started first to protest, then to hurt and to burn. Finally, dark shadows engulfed him, swallowed him, and his vision blackened out.


	66. Chapter 66

Several things happened at the same time.

Sansa screamed as if she wanted to wreck her voice, so horrified was she. Nymeria made a step backwards. Kevan arrived from his own tent – with bare feet and only wearing badly-laced smallclothes so you could see his well-padded belly. He stumbled over a root on the ground. Arya wrinkled her nose at the sight. The sentries shouted at each other.

 

So Sansa's head came up with the one important conclusion: „Nobody is either able or willing to help – or both.“

Without even thinking of what she was doing, she grabbed the next best item that looked like a weapon. It happened to be a half-burning log from the nearest camp fire. Sansa simply took hold of the end that wasn't on fire yet and threw it at undead Ser Jorah Mormont.

 

She hadn't expected a lot, but it turned out it was the single best thing she could have done: within moments, the wight was aflame, and it dropped her husband.

At Sansa's side, Arya had the nerve to comment: “Bull's eye, sister. Well, your lion will get a few blisters, but at least he doesn't have much hair that could get scorched. Might be sad about his sideburns though.”

 

On hearing these words, Sansa simply hissed: “Keep your mouth shut!”

Next, she dashed to her husband's side, not caring about the crumpling rests of the undead knight. Ser Kevan, who had caught himself, was on her heels, still not considering his... lacking attire.

 

Sansa fell to her knees, to where Tywin had fallen. He was unconscious, and he had ugly marks at the neck because of the strangling. Now, it turned out that his brother, who had been on military campaigns and had seen a lot, knew better what to do: he knelt at her side, pressed down Tywin's chest rhythmically and ordered Sansa how and when to breathe into her husband's mouth. There was the ugly crunching sound of a breaking rib, but Kevan couldn't be bothered in his attempt to save Tywin's life.

 

Sansa did as she was told and feared for her husband. After some three to four minutes, Kevan checked on his brother. To her endless relief, her goodbrother's features softened.

“He'll flog me for breaking his rib, but at least he'll see another day,” he said.

Sansa sobbed and pressed her face against Tywin's sooty tunic.

 

Her husband coughed and sputtered and gasped for air. It took him a while to come back to his senses.

As soon as he could focus on the people at his side, Kevan said: “Don't look at us like that. We've just saved your life. Now breathe carefully. Had to break a rib so as not to lose you to the Stranger.”

 

Sansa kissed her husband and whispered in a raw voice: “You're alive! You're alive!”

She took it as the possibly best sign when Tywin gargled: “Will... say... same... after birth.”

His words caused her to erupt into hysterical shrieks of laughter.

 

Meanwhile, Kevan ordered the other men to put Tywin on a big piece of cloth and to carry him back to his tent. Of course, Tywin wanted to walk, but not even he was robust enough to do that so soon after having been nearly throttled.

 

It turned out that Janei was with Dorna again, and Sansa's and Tywin's tent was empty, much to her relief. She kept tending to her husband all night and couldn't help but touch and kiss his face again and again.

Tywin couldn't talk much, which was no surprise, but he let her fuss over him as if he knew it was exactly what she needed. Or perhaps it was what he needed himself as well – in his case you could never be sure.

 

In the morning, he forced himself into a sitting position, touched his neck and said: “Need a wash.”

Sansa, bleary-eyed and stifling a yawn, answered: “You also need a good shave. Your sideburns are next to non-existent after the wight's second death. The fire caused your hair melt away. And we need a salve for the blisters on your skin.”

 

Tywin pressed both his lips and his eyelids together. And his jaws started to work.

“Help me then,” he croaked after a moment.

 

One could tell the broken rib hurt him and hindered him in his movements, but being the proud man he was, Tywin tried to behave as if it were nothing. Sansa, however, knew him better.

 

That day, nobody wanted to travel on.

Nymeria kept appearing and disappearing into the woods. She brought Arya and Sansa food from her hunts.

Even so, the situation between the two sisters was a strained one after the previous night. Neither Arya nor the direwolf had been of any help, and that irked Sansa more than she could say. For that reason, Sansa spent more time in Dorna's company and thanked Kevan for keeping a cool mind.

“You're a good man,” Sansa said and meant it.

Kevan blushed and waved off the compliment.

 

The next important question was how to transport Lord Tywin. Riding was out of the question with a broken rib, but the haughty man would still try to get onto his horse's back, of that Sansa was convinced.

For that reason, she cooked up a diplomatic strategy, looked at her growing belly, and said to her husband: “Tywin, dearest, I think I'm getting too heavy for the saddle. I guess I'll have to resort to the cart. Can you accompany me there? Please? I'll need you at my side so you can help me.”

That earned her Tywin's grumbled comment: “I've told you so for ages. Finally, you're seeing some sense.”

Sansa was willing to swear her husband had smelled the rat, intelligent as he was, but didn't say so, which caused her to grin inwardly.

 

Travelling by cart wasn't comfortable either, far from it, and it caused them sore backsides and pain, too, but at least they didn't have to camp on the same spot even longer.

Fortunately, they weren't attacked again.

One grey spring evening, it finally happened. Sansa's eyes filled with tears of joy: the massive walls of Winterfell were coming into view.

She was back home.


	67. Chapter 67

“What a bleak, boring fortress,” was Tywin's first thought about Winterfell. “No wonder Ned Stark was the way he was.”

He thought of Casterly Rock's elegance, the beautiful landscape, the prominent position – and the thought of his home being razed to the ground gnawed at him even more than it had already done.  
Winterfell was bigger in comparison, but at first sight, that point seemed to be its only visual asset.

 

“Ah, but I'll finally be out of this blasted cart. Though it did have its merits,” Tywin thought.

He and Sansa had been given big furs in the cart. Tywin hadn't particularly cared about the extra comfort though he couldn't deny it had made the transport more acceptable. No, the far more fascinating aspect had been that it had given him the opportunity to use his fingers and to do some outrageous things to Sansa under the furs. Of course, his lady love had looked at him as if she would have liked to berate him, but that had been impossible, what with the other travellers and the cart driver so close nearby. Besides, her body had not shared her moral qualms at all. The rattling of the cart had added to the sensation, and it had been a source of great delight for Tywin to watch his wife in utter despair, because she had not known how to stifle her moans anymore. She had pressed her face against him under the furs then until her muscles had started to clench in the most delicious ways.

To make things even better, her breasts had not only grown, but had also become more sensitive. During the first months of their marriage it hadn't helped much to fondle her there, but now, she was able to peak when Tywin licked and suckled at her nipples. No wonder he had taken advantage of this change whenever they had been alone.

Otherwise, Tywin had restrained himself and had not fucked Sansa properly ever since his rib had been broken – but at night, she had pleasured him with her mouth until he had thought he'd die from a heart attack.

 

“I'll be happy not to have to go on camping next to Kevan,” Tywin mused while he watched the walls of Winterfell come closer.

His younger brother and Dorna had always been fond of each other, in a temperate way. But these days, they were clearly experiencing a second phase of adolescence – and of late, it had been all too audible whenever the two had disappeared in their tent together. No wonder Janei had been allowed the adventure to sleep in Arya's tent, where the direwolf came in and left as it pleased the giant beast.

 

Tywin suspected Sansa to have had a hand in orchestrating the affair. Dorna had always been so pious that she must have kept herself under control in the marriage bed. Or perhaps she hadn't known any more than the basics, and Kevan had been too polite to ask for any experiments. Who knew.

What was obvious these days was that Sansa and Dorna were often sticking their heads together, and when Kevan looked over to them and Dorna noticed his glance the two spouses would blush and burst into giggles. Kevan and giggles! Tywin couldn't believe it and kept shaking his head.

 

Even more surprising than that were the news that Dorna was even with child again. Everybody had believed her to be beyond that age, herself included. Yet, there was no denying her state, given how she was sick into the bushes every morning.

Actually, Tywin's goodsister suffered much more from her pregnancy than Sansa did. Most of the time, Sansa felt all right. Some pain in the back – yes. A bit of the usual nausea during the first weeks – yes. Moments of greedy hunger or of changing moods – yes. But it all remained rather moderate, whereas Dorna was having a hard time. Had Tywin been religious, he'd have praised the Seven for Sansa's robust physical nature.

 

And robust they'd have to be from now on. Soon enough, it became clear that the settlement near the fortress was deserted, and the huts had fallen into decay where they hadn't been destroyed.  
Arya was looking about herself, scowling at the signs of past violence. Even from his cart, Tywin could tell she was shocked – and he was willing to bet that the state of the fortress itself wouldn't make his goodsister any happier.

 

His assumptions proved to be correct. On the inside, many walls were charred. The great hall had collapsed. A quick first look at the rooms showed that everything had been plundered. Human skeletons and scattered bones were visible in various places.

“At least, these corpses have decayed as they should and haven't risen again to become wights,” Tywin thought.

 

He cast a side glance at Sansa. In contrast to her blabbering sister, she was very quiet. Only the way she stared at the buildings, while pressing her lips together in a tight line, told him what was going on inside of her.

Janei was the only one who reacted in a more positive way, hopped around and crowed: “Oh! That's a big castle. Sooo big! Can I have my own room? Or even better: my own tower?”

Tywin palmed his face. This was the worst possible moment for a display of typical Lannister greediness, he found.

 

One sentry said: “We need to have a look at the storerooms and the cellars. We'll need some provisions. Maybe, we'll find something useful.”

Tywin answered: “I doubt we'll find much, but go ahead.”

His words earned him a piercing side glance from Arya.

She addressed the sentry: “Yours is a good idea. We'll all go and see what we can find. And in the meantime, Nymeria will go and hunt something. – Nymeria?”

 

Tywin arched his eyebrow.

“So someone is fooling herself to be the Lady of Winterfell,” he thought and watched the eager direwolf dash off into the woods.

Then, he felt Sansa's hand on his arm. She was looking back and forth between Arya, who was already looking elsewhere, and him. There was a warning in his wife's eyes, and the tiniest hint at a shake of her head.

Tywin snorted. How could she possibly consider him to be such an oaf? He still had a fine trump up his sleeve and didn't need to talk back to his headstrong, inexperienced goodsister.

 

Of course, no food was found, apart from a dusty casket of wine that had somehow been overlooked during the plundering by the Ironborn. Next, the wary travellers took up lodgings in the fortress. Arya and Edric chose the lord's suite. Sansa made for her old room, but it proved uninhabitable for the time being. So they ended up in the wing for noble visitors, which suited Tywin fine enough. Kevan and Dorna found their own rooms down the corridor. The guards and Janei had some simpler chambers at their disposal. They could have taken up lodgings elsewhere, but they all wanted to stay close together.

 

In their own room, the bed had been damaged, but only one bedpost had been broken. Some even stones quickly turned into an acceptable makeshift solution for the time being. As soon as this problem had been dealt with, Sansa sank onto the bed, exhausted. Tywin's chest hurt, because his rib hadn't fully healed yet, so he lay down next to her.

 

Sansa looked up at the ceiling and said: “It doesn't feel like home.”

Tywin turned his head and glanced at his wife.

“After Joanna had died, Casterly Rock didn't feel like home either. For years.”

Sansa remained silent for two or three minutes.

Then, she asked: “Are you sad we were never there together?”

Tywin breathed out.

“Yes and no. I would have liked you to see the place so you could understand many things better. But perhaps it was good you didn't have to live there. So many old memories, you know?”

 

Sansa snuggled up to him.

“We'll have new memories here.”

Tywin scratched his lower lip with his thumb, deep in thought.

“Definitely so. There's so much to do here. What disturbs me most is that there are no other people in the area. It's vital to have some subjects to be able to renovate the fortress and to gather provisions for the next winter.”

A sad smile played on Sansa's lips.

“Winter is coming,” she murmured.

 

Tywin went on: “We also need to interact with the realm – the northern lords and the Iron Throne most of all. We need ravens. The dragon queen has to be informed of Ser Jorah's death. That's why two of our men have to be sent on the road again.”

 

Sansa put her chin onto his chest and looked up at him with her blue eyes.

“Arya won't listen to your advice. She despises you too much.”

Tywin combed through her auburn locks.

“I was told your lord father used to lend his ear to his subjects' concerns.”

Sansa nodded on his chest.

“That he did, and she'll listen to what other people tell her – but not to you.”

“She'd be stupid not to do so. Arya may detest me, but she'll need me. Being back home and being a Stark isn't enough these days.”

 

Sansa nodded again, and she twirled the short hair of his regrowing sideburns. She moved upwards and kissed him, which was as agreeable as always.

After some long, deep kissing, Tywin said: “I only hope your stubborn little sister won't try to bond with the Boltons.”

Sansa knitted her brows, and Tywin could see questions in her eyes, but she didn't ask them aloud.

Instead, she replied: “I don't think so. Father was their overlord, but he wasn't friends with them.”

Tywin sniffed.

“The term “friend” is the least adequate one possible for the Boltons. You could rather be a friend of undead Ser Jorah.”

Sansa shuddered, but she still didn't ask the questions that were clearly on the tip of her tongue. They rather exchanged a long glance, and after that, they needed no more words for this topic.

 

Next, Tywin changed the subject: “There's one thing I could tell your sister, though, and she'd love it.”

Sansa's eyebrows moved upwards.

“I cannot imagine what that might be. You could tell her on a bright summer day that the sky is blue, and she'd still say it's green.”

“Ah, but this is different, my dear. I'll advise her to contact your bastard brother at the Wall. He should come here and meet you for some serious talk considering the north.”

 

Sansa's eyes widened. One heartbeat later, she was kissing him again. This time, she was wild and hungry – as if she wanted to devour him. Breathing was getting difficult, but this way, it was much preferable to a wight's throttling grip, and Tywin thought he was definitely doing something right.


	68. Chapter 68

Sadly, Sansa found herself proven right: Arya wasn't willing to take any advice from Tywin... with the exception of contacting Jon.

In that situation, Arya had simply growled: “No need to tell me about that option. I had already thought of it myself.”

 

However, it was interesting for Sansa to see how Tywin avoided contact with his goodsister and rather tried to influence the other people around her. Especially Edric.

“The old lion tactitian,” she thought and smiled inwardly.

 

Nymeria came and went as she pleased, often bringing them game. If you considered their overall lack of food, her contributions were welcomed. It was obvious that the direwolf enjoyed it to be back in the North. No wonder Sansa was missing Lady often these days.

 

Apart from that, Sansa was slowly starting to waddle because of her big belly. Her legs and feet were becoming heavier by the day, she started to feel more and more pain in her back, and she suffered from heartburns.

No wonder her intimacies with Tywin were becoming rare and awkward. Her husband didn't find her any less attractive – quite the contrary. He was becoming pretty obsessed with her growing breasts and her increased sensitivity there. These days she'd rather come from his hands' and mouth's caresses than from an actual penetration, and she used her own hands and mouth on him just as often.

When she tried to apologise for this change, Tywin shrugged.

“You'll be giving birth soon. It's normal.”

“Was it the same with... Joanna?” Sansa wanted to know.

Tywin grimaced.

“Yes, as far as I can recall.”

 

On the fourth evening, he confronted her with another topic.

“There's something we need to talk about.”

“Yes, Tywin?”

“I... wasn't expecting my first marriage to end so soon. I had believed to grow old with Joanna. Or to die first, in a battle for example. When fate struck... I kept the shock and pain alive afterwards. For decades. Until that fateful night when we landed in bed together. You see: I wanted to feel the pain. I thought that it was an essential part of mourning. Any sort of happiness – especially love – would have felt like betraying Joanna.”

Sansa stroked Tywin's cheek.

“What do you want to tell me?”

Tywin breathed in and out.

“In case you survive the birthing bed you'll likely outlive me. What I want you to know is that you mustn't become lonely and bitter afterwards like I did. I'd never share you with anyone, but when I'm dead I won't care anymore. I only beseech you to make sure our child, or children, can grow up in a safe environment, and that they know about their heritage. On both sides.”

 

Sansa didn't know what to say to that. She didn't want to think about her husband's death either. So all she could do was to press herself flush against him and to bury her face against his chest.

 

She could also tell Tywin didn't like the north. The climate, Winterfell, the lack of waves from the sea... no, it all wasn't easy for him. Yet, there was, in fact, one place her husband appreciated, and very much so: the warm pools. Tywin loved to dunk himself in there for a wash – and was of the opinion that the place was also good for some juicy interactions with her. Sansa didn't deny him his wishes. On the one hand, she liked the way he was thinking when it came to the marriage bed – or pool, in this case – and on the other hand, she wanted to help him feel more at home.

 

The most pressing problem was to find and to inform other northerners of their whereabouts – and to tell the dragon queen of Ser Jorah's death. Not to do so would only increase their problems... but they didn't have any ravens. At the same time, they needed every helping hand in Winterfell to uphold the most basic day-to-day duties.

 

At some point, Arya said: “When we were travelling someone shot down Ser Jorah. People must know we were on our way.”

That caused Tywin to utter a little snort.

“If those people contacted us now, we might assume at once who orchestrated the murder.”

On hearing this, Arya pushed her lips forward and scowled at her goodbrother in dark silence.

 

The next day, their quarrels escalated when Tywin pointed out that the entrance gate should be closed at night. Sansa thought of how he had already ranted about it in their private chambers. He had contacted Edric on the matter, but it had only served to spark off the first argument between the young spouses.

No wonder Arya pressed her hands onto her hips in the courtyard and groused: “So it was YOU who put that stupid idea into Edric's head. I should have known. Don't you realise we've got too few people to pull up and to lower the gates so often? And besides, Nymeria needs to be able to enter and to leave at all times. If not for her extra help we'd have far more problems with our provisions. And besides, there's nobody else around.”

 

Sansa could see Tywin's eyes glitter as if they were made from green flint. She also knew that had he been with her in private he would have palmed his face. Sansa couldn't understand Arya herself either.

Tywin said in a flat voice: “Maybe nobody else is here right now, but this could change any moment. We don't have enough people to watch out for any possible enemies. And don't forget Ser Jorah's fate. Do you want wights to invade the castle at night and to turn you and everyone else here into undead beings?”

 

Arya still wasn't convinced.

“It's unlikely anyone will attack us here. The last roaming Ironborn have long been wiped out. And no undead being will get past Nymeria. She'll protect us.”

That was the last straw for Tywin, and he saw red.

“You've just admitted Nymeria might be hunting. Besides, what did she do when I was attacked and nearly throttled? And even if she could bring down one wight – what if she had to face a dozen? And don't forget: there are many people at the Wall who were sent there during the last winter. Some of them may not take kindly to us in Winterfell and try to kill us.”

Arya shouted back: “That's your fault! Your stupid laws and punishments! And I shall listen to someone like you? Pah! My father trusted a deal that should have kept him alive, trusted your daughter and your incestuous grandson – and what did it help? It only cost him his head. I saw it happen! I have witnessed the falseness of your family. Don't you ever expect me to put any faith into a single word of yours!”

 

Sansa tried to reason with Arya: “It's true that father's trust into that deal to take the Black was wrong, I had to watch the execution, too, but the situation is now a completely diff–“

“You!” Arya frothed. “Yes, you've watched the execution, too – and you've still got involved with the source of all evil! I cannot really consider you a part of the pack anymore.”

 

That was the very moment when Tywin called for all the people to gather.

And when they were there, he spoke up: “If you think the entrance gate should stay open at night, move over to Arya's side. If you think the entrance gate should be closed at night for our safety, you move over to my side.”

Not a minute later, Edric was the only one at Arya's side – and one could see from his fidgeting that he was only there out of personal loyalty, not out of conviction.

 

Arya's face was white.

“This is a mutiny against the Lady of Winterfell!” she called.

Tywin shot back: “It's a reaction to your lack of wisdom. I've heard that your father would take advice from his bannermen and and lend his ear to his subjects. But you are rash and don't listen to me, no matter how sound an idea is – because you've got a personal grudge against me and because you're too stubborn. All I can say from decades of experience is the following: you must learn the basics of politics – or you'll be powerless. And soon as dead as a doornail. If you don't become a wight, that is.”

 

Arya had balled her fists, and she was trembling in anger. Sansa could see her little sister wouldn't accept any of those words, that she was beyond good reason.

“You've planned this all along,” Arya hissed at Tywin. “You sold me off to Edric to belittle me – “

“Arya, please!” Edric cut in, but to no avail.

“... and now you're undermining my position. You're seizing Winterfell. Snatching it away from me. From me, the appointed lady of this castle. That's theft. Because you're an old, greedy man who can't live without power and because you know you can never get the west back. So you're laying your paws onto the north. All right, I've understood the message and I know I don't have a chance against you. You know what? I'm out of that Game of Thrones of yours. You, Lord Goldpride may go fuck yourself!”

 

With those words, Arya turned around and stomped off. Edric ran after her, but from one moment to the next, Arya had the tip of her sword right under his nose.

“Leave. Me. Be. You're nothing more than Tywin's lickspittle.”

Even from a distance, Sansa could see her little sister's threat with her weapon wasn't an empty one. So Sansa pressed her hand onto her mouth, fearing Edric might not want to see he was in danger of becoming gutted. Luckily, the youngster was shocked, but not too overwhelmed to make a step backwards and to let his wife go.

Tears started to ran down Sansa's cheeks.

 

Later that day, Arya and Nymeria both disappeared from Winterfell.

Only one short message had been left in a handwriting that looked like chicken scratches: “I'm going to where the real north is. I'm taking the Black and joining Jon.”

Edric was crestfallen and wanted to run after her in the first moment, but after an hour or so he realised his stubborn wife wouldn't come back to him, no matter what. Sansa could see his heart break, which caused her to be angrier with her little sister than she had ever been in all her life.

 

In the evening, Tywin said to her: “I fear that is what Daenerys wanted to happen to the Starks – to keep them as weak as possible. And now... it's you who will have to rule Winterfell.”

“No!” Sansa shrieked. “I don't want to rule. Not anymore. I've been the Hour Queen, and that has quenched whatever thirst I might have ever had for the Game of Thrones.”

 

Her husband looked at her.

“Your people won't accept a former Lannister. You are a Stark by blood, whatever Arya may have said. It's you who will have to lead. But without flattering myself – I've always been a good Hand. Apart from that: your father didn't want to be a lord either, from what I've heard. But we can hardly ever choose what we want to do.”

 

The next day brought yet another major change: a big group of travellers arrived from the south. The party was led by Ser Addam Marbrand, who had been disinherited by Queen Daenaerys, too, because he had always been a most loyal Lannister bannerman. Luckily, the people also brought provisions, tools... and ravens. That took a load off everyone's hearts.

And less than two hours later, four feathered animals took to the air with messages attached to their legs. One would fly to Bear Island, to where the Mormonts resided. One bird was heading for White Harbour and House Manderly. The third – and rather long – letter was addressed to Queen Daenaerys. It included a report of everything that had happened. And the last message was for Jon at the Wall.

 

Sansa was worried and asked her husband: “Do you think he'll understand? Or do you think he'll be angry with me?”

Tywin shook his head.

“Over the years, I've exchanged more than one letter with him, and I feel that he's more thoughtful than your little sister. He also knows he needs a stable north that can back up the Wall, if need be. After all, he's risen to the position of Lord Commander, and he must have a larger view on all these matters. No, he'll understand.”

Sansa nodded and hoped she could believe her husband. Still – her heart was heavy. As heavy as her body, one might say. She wondered if she was already being nicknamed “the waddling lionwolf”. It wouldn't have surprised her.

With a deep sigh she thought: “If only everything will go well and Winterfell won't need yet another leader after the birth...”


	69. Chapter 69

They all started to repair the castle bit by bit, but it was difficult and tiring work. Progress was slow. It couldn't be helped.

 

Sansa noticed how Tywin winced when Maester Luwin's birthing chair was found in the wise man's old storage room. It was still intact.

Sansa thought: “I'll give birth where my mother gave birth to me and my siblings. That's a good omen.”

When she told her husband he tapped on the wood and said: “I wish we had a maester, not just the chair. And I hope that no woodworm has been feasting on it over the last years.”

Sansa put her hand on his one and pressed it gently.

“Things will fall into place,” she said, although she knew it was a hollow phrase.

 

The first northerners to make an appearance were the Mormonts. Maege Mormont and two daughters had her battle axes in her belts, and their faces were stern. So were those of the men who accompanied her.  
When they entered the courtyard, Sansa stood in the middle as the new Lady of Winterfell. She was nervous and would have liked Tywin at her side, but they both knew he had to stay in the background in this situation.

 

“Lady Sansa,” the matriarch said, “so you're back in Winterfell. You look like your mother. Only she wasn't a northerner, but a Tully, respected as she was. I wonder how much of a northerner you are – after all these years in the south... and with your Lannister affiliation.”

Sansa knew that this beginning was a check from the elder woman.

 

“Lady Mormont. I and my people welcome you in Winterfell. I am very happy to be back – though I wish my return could have happened in a more positive context. What I can tell you is that all the Lannisters have dropped their former family name, and I have adopted the Stark name again.”

 

Maege Mormont curled her lips and snorted, and her daughters didn't look any friendlier. They shot Tywin side glances.

Lady Mormont pointed with her chin.

“And he's allowing that? The proud Lion from Casterly Rock?”

“My husband loves and respects me, as I love and respect him. He has always known that a strong wife is better for a family's prosperity than a subdued one.”

 

“Love it is, you say?”

Lady Mormont looked at Sansa's swollen belly and back and forth between the two. It was obvious she was pondering the age gap.

“He sacrificed everything to save my and my sister's life. Don't you ever doubt his devotion.”

The elder woman arched an eyebrow and asked: “Speaking of your sister – where is she?”

“My sister Arya has decided to visit our brother Jon at the Wall – together with her direwolf Nymeria. As you can see, the Starks are back in the north.”

 

By the look of it, Maege Mormont had had enough of the northern variant of small talk.

“Did you kill Jorah?”

Sansa stiffened.

“I swear on my father's bones that neither of us had anything to do with it.”

She thought of her father's remains, which had been entombed in the crypts of Winterfell. Over the last month she had passed a lot of time there and had finally had a chance to mourn her father the way she had always wanted to. She had also talked a lot to the tombstone, had spilled out everything that had burdened her soul, and she had found more inner peace and new strength.

 

Maege Mormont, however, wasn't impressed and scratched her nose.

“I'll trust you, girl, but I won't trust the others. All these proud, golden-haired westerners.”

“I am not surprised, Lady Mormont. I have learned it the hard way that trust is a difficult thing. It needs to be earned. But I have also found out that Lannisters are not just proud and cruel. They're all different. I think I have brought some good men along with me. They're not northerners, but they'll adapt. And now... shall I show you around, or would you like to rest after the voyage so that we can talk when you have refreshed yourselves?”

 

Maege Mormont cackled.

“The perfect southron lady. Really – there's no need to treat anyone of us like a delicate flower. I haven't come all this way here to be idle. Girls, you can go eat something and organise that what little luggage we have is put into a few guest rooms.”

The younger women obliged, and Kevan and Dorna took care of them and the Mormont men.

“All right. And now, Lady Sansa: show me around. I've heard the castle has been damaged quite a bit.”

 

So Sansa and Lady Mormont started to walk around and talked about the various visible reconstruction sites. Sansa knew Tywin had returned to their solar; they had talked about tactics beforehand, and his behaviour showed her that he thought there was no immediate danger... and that she had done well so far.

Soon, Maege Mormont pointed at Sansa's belly and said: “Can't be long now. I take it you've got trouble to walk?”

Sansa inclined her head a fraction.

“No, it won't be long – but I'm pregnant, not ill. And in my sister's absence I'm the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Are you the Warden of the North, too?”

 

The question was uttered in a nondescript tone. Sansa, however, wasn't fooled.

“My brother made the mistake to style himself as King of the North. I'm not going to make any similar mistake. Queen Daenaerys had decided Ser Jorah should be Warden of the North, and she must decide who should come after him.”

Lady Mormont accepted this answer with a curt nod. Sansa asked herself what the woman was thinking and feeling about Ser Jorah's death deep inside, and she tried to glean some insight from the elder woman's cool behaviour and the fact that she didn't talk about the knight's death any more.

 

From one moment to the next, a sharp pain welled up in Sansa's body, and she stopped and gasped while pressing a hand on her belly.

Maege Mormont stopped, too, and looked at her.

“The baby?”

“I... I think so,” Sansa breathed. “But I think it's still a bit early.”

“Breathe evenly, Lady Sansa. – Good. And now tell me, is there any wetness between your legs?”

Sansa blushed.

“N...no.”

Maege Mormont nodded to herself. At the same moment, there was another wave of pain in Sasnsa's middle section.

“It might be a false alarm, my lady. This is your first child, isn't it? I think your body is preparing for the actual birth.”

“Doesn't feel like a false alarm,” Sansa gasped.

 

That caused Lady Mormont to laugh. It was the first mirthful sound from the hard woman.

“Didn't you talk about trust earlier on? I tell you – I've birthed enough children. You can trust my judgement. And if you think this is no false alarm we'll talk about it again when you're truly in labour. Even so... if it's still a bit early for the birth it's not a good idea to wander around in such a situation. We'll get you a stretcher, and we'll put you into bed.”

Sansa thought that such measures were too extreme, and she tried to reason with Lady Mormont, but the elderly woman was having none of it.

 

Tywin arrived together with the people who were carrying the stretcher, and Sansa thought his green eyes had never been so easy to read: they radiated panic. He thanked Lady Mormont for her security measures and even went as far as expressing his hope she might be willing to assist in the birthing process.

 

Then, her husband turned to her and put his hand on her belly.

“Sansa, how are you? From now on, you'll stay in your bedroom. No marches across the courtyard anymore. Understood?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. She was already recovering from the mock wafts.

“Tywin, I'm not made of glass. Millions of women have been through this before me, and I'll manage.”

“One of these millions of women was my first wife, and she did NOT manage. So I'm telling you to stay in your room, and you'll do as I say. Fortunately, Lady Mormont is a woman – she may enter our private chambers for politicking, if need be. Oh, and one more thing: stop rolling your eyes. You're reminding me of your little sister that way.”

 

Sansa uttered a very un-ladylike snort. She also noticed Lady Mormont's looks flicker from Tywin to her once more.

“Oh, great. All it needed for her to realise Tywin and me are truly in love were some fake wafts. Pfff!” Sansa thought.

All in all, she was more than just a little morose when she was carried into her room and put down on her bed.

Tywin stayed with her and tried to rearrange some cushions, but all she could think was: “Incarceration has begun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there has been no Red Wedding in this AU, Dacey Mormont is still alive and one of the daughters accompanying her mother.


	70. Chapter 70

“I have a strong feeling we'll have a marriage soon,” Tywin told Sansa at the end of the third day his wife had spent in their bedroom.

Sansa had experienced more mock wafts, but the baby was still taking it's sweet time to make some serious attempts to come into the world.

So Sansa was in a glum mood when she asked: “What do you mean – marriage?”

“Ser Addam Marbrand and Dacey Mormont. I've seen them together in the training yard. And while I don't know the bear woman well I can tell Ser Addam is besotted with her. I have already confronted him with my impressions, and he's admitted they're correct – and that the feelings are mutual.”

 

That caught Sansa's interest, as Tywin hoped it would.

“Really? What does Lady Mormont say?”

Tywin snorted.

“Of course, she's completely against a match with a westerman. How very unfortunate for her...”

By now, Sansa's eyes were sparkling.

“You've hatched a plan for the two.”

 

Tywin shook his head at that.

“Not hatched. Put into action.”

“What!? What have you done? Tell me!”

Tywin feigned total innocence.

“There wasn't much to do, actually. You remember the drug that brought us together, don't you?”

 

Sansa's hand flew to her mouth.

“You didn't do it, did you!?”

Tywin shrugged.

“The westermen need to get a foot into the northern door. And their members into the northern women. That's all there is to it. Oh, and Ser Addam and Lady Dacey retreated to this ageing tower. I found clothes all the way upstairs. And since the two were already in the middle of an extra jousting unit, I locked the door and took their clothes into my care.”

 

Sansa squealed.

“You locked them up and stole their clothes!? Oh, by the seven!”

Tywin thought of what thick-headed Lady Mormont would look like when she discovered the ensuing scandal, and he allowed himself to look smug. The old bear woman still had to get up a lot earlier, if she wanted to oust him.

 

But then, Sansa turned serious again.

“That tower,” she said, “was the one Bran fell out of.”

Ah.

Aloud, Tywin said: “Well, et least it has seen something more positive by now.”

Sansa nodded.

 

The next moment, there was a loud hammering on the bedroom door, so both of them flinched.

“What on earth...!?” thundered Tywin.

Who dared to make his pregnant wife nervous?

“Here, Lord Tywin and Lady Sansa!” That was Edric's voice. “A letter from the Wall for Lady Sansa. From Lord Commander Snow.”

 

Sansa gasped, and Tywin entertained various spontaneous ways of torturing Edric to death. With long strides, Tywin marched to the door, wrenched it open, grabbed the piece of paper in the lad's excited face, and smashed the door closed again.

Luckily, Sansa didn't think of admonishing him for treating Edric roughly, because she herself was so nervous about her bastard brother's message and wanted to read it at once. She even got up from her bed and waddled over to him.

 

“Sansa! Lie down!” Tywin ordered, but Sansa simply waved her hand as if he were a fly and snatched the paper out of his fingers. At least, he was allowed to read over her shoulder.

 

_“Sansa, dearest sister,_   
_Arya has arrived at the Wall with Nymeria. She is still very upset and has given me an account of what has happened of late. It is so good to be able to see her again after all these years, and I do hope you will visit the Wall at some point in the future. I have also read your letter, for which I have been very grateful. For the time being, me and my brethren will treat Arya as a guest here and hope that she will calm down. I should add that our sister misses her husband a lot, despite everything that has happened. She seems to have realised that she has not treated him fairly, but is too frightened to apologise lest he might reject her. To see Nymeria and Ghost together again gives me great joy. They play with each other like they did when they were pups – do you remember? Duty at the Wall has come a bit brighter this way, I must admit. Arya has also told me of your state, Sansa, and I hope the child's birth will be a swift and easy one. May the Old Gods wake over you. Please answer as soon as you have recovered, so we can attune our northern policies. I miss you, Sansa, and I am glad you are back in the north. Love, Jon”_

 

Tywin was positively surprised when he read the Lord Commander's warm words – and so was Sansa, given the tears on her cheeks.

“Oh Tywin,” she breathed, “Jon misses me! Although I wasn't a very good sister to him. And Arya has safely arrived! I knew she could do it, but still... And Edric! We must inform him that Arya still has got feelings for him. I'm sure there'll by a way for them to reconcile. He's been so depressed of late and – AAAAHHHH!”

 

The letter fell from Sansa's fingers, and she pressed her hand onto her belly. Tywin tensed at once, and his eyes widened.

His wife looked at him, her brows knitted in pain, and she simply gasped: “Lady Mormont said I'd know the difference between a mock waft and a true one. If this wasn't a true one I don't know how much worse it could be.”


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... this chapter was daunting, to say the least. I've never written a birthing scene in such detail before, and I don't have any first-hand experience. So if there has anything gone awry, please do tell me.

When the old bear woman wanted to throw him out of their bedroom Tywin pointed out she'd rather have to use her battle axe to get rid of him.

“And even then, I'm not sure you'd win in a fight against me.”

He patted the sword at his hip.

 

Lady Mormont looked him up and down.

“As much of a hindrance already as I'd expect you to be.”

Tywin shot back: “Just as much of a hindrance as you make me one. I've fought in battles. I've experienced my share of screams and blood. Sansa won't be alone in this process, understood?”

 

All Lady Mormont did was to screw up her eyes.

“The moment you faint we'll drag you out and won't let you in again.”

Tywin's nostrils flared.

“Insolent woman,” he thought.

 

About two hours later, he thought differently. He kept putting cool wet pieces of cloth onto his wife's brow.

Until she snarled at him like a wolf: “Stop that rubbish. I'm not feverish, husband.”

 

What Tywin had certainly not expected was his fingers to feel like mush. He would have never thought that a slender hand like Sansa's could crush them like she did.

 

Things didn't improve for him when Sansa hissed in between wafts: “No matter what happens to me, Tywin... hhhh... you will love that child, understood? You don't love Tyrion, but you will love this one, promise me.”

Tywin's heart dropped into his boots. And then, he shamelessly lied at Sansa: he was convinced he could never love a child that caused Sansa so much pain, but he'd have promised her to melt the Wall with his bare hands to calm her down.

 

The worst, however, were her howls. Each one ripped Tywin apart. He found out that there was decidedly a difference between screaming fighters on a battlefield and your own wife screeching at the top of her lungs.

 

At some point, Tywin started to feel queasy, and only Lady Mormont's earlier warning kept him on his feet. Stubborn as he was he wanted to deny her that triumph. Even if the woman in question was now busy otherwise.

She and Dorna were consoling Sansa by giving her advice on how to breathe, and they encouraged her. Strangely enough, his wife accepted the women's words, but not his own ones.

“What do you know about what my situation, Tywin? I swear I'll never allow you back into my bed. I'll never go through this again. AAAaaaah!”

Given what she was enduring, Tywin wondered how any woman was ever willing to accept a lover between her legs. And how knights were considered heroes, not women.

 

Worse than that, his thoughts kept returning to Joanna and to what she must have sensed and suffered before the end. He found it had never been more difficult to fight back tears – after all, he only had to look down at Sansa to know that it wouldn't help her at all, if she became a teary mess. But he did growl in pain when she gripped his hand once more a moment later and all but squashed it.

 

“How's she doing?” he rasped at Dorna after some seven hours.

He felt on his last legs. No battle had ever been so tiresome. How Sansa could still be alive was a wonder to him – and even more so, because her pain seemed to have intensified.

 

To his astonishment, his normally gentle, pious goodsister was in league with the other two women and couldn't be recognised as the sensitive woman she normally was.

She snapped at him: “Sansa will be doing fine, if you stop fussing around like a septa in a brothel.”

Tywin's eyes widened.

Surely, things were going badly, if Dorna – of all people – was using rude language?

 

After fifteen hours of ongoing screams and writhing Tywin was so exhausted that he actually dozed off for a minute or so.

He woke up again when his cheek sank against his wife. Her skin was clammy from sweat, and her fiery tresses were a matted mess for once.

Of course, Sansa had noticed his nap. So had the others. That was the exact moment, when Tywin blushed like a maiden on her wedding night.

However, his behaviour was momentarily forgotten with the next waft.

 

One hour later, things became really tight when Lady Mormont called: “All right, Ladies, I can see the head. Won't be long now.”

Dorna nodded.

“About time, but all right for the first baby. Took 22 hours in my case. See, Sansa, you'll be all right. Now press!”

 

What followed were... curses from Sansa's mouth that would have caused any sellsword to sink to his knees in shame. Tywin could only ask himself in mild amusement where she had picked up the wording to wish them all “to the seven freaking bloody hells” and the like.

Then, however, he focused back on Sansa's spasms, which had intensified beyond what he could have ever imagined to be possible. He could smell Sansa's blood, his ears were ringing from her screams, and he was sure he'd never get that sound out of his ears again.

 

The next moment, her voice died down and her body went slack. Tywin panicked.

“Sansa, love, what –”

“Keep your mouth shut, for fuck's sake!” Lady Mormont spat. “She's just given birth.”

Tywin stilled. So she wasn't...?

He looked down at his wife, and just at that moment did her glazed eyes flutter open, and she looked at him.

“Sansa...,” Tywin whispered and nudged her temple with his nose.

“You've stayed,” Sansa's hoarse voice whispered back and uttered a soft moan. “Thanks. I love you.”

That caused Tywin's inner dam to burst, and his cheeks were wet in an instant.

“Sansa...”

 

Yet, the next moment, his wife's focus shifted away from him again.

“The baby... why don't you say anything?”

That caused Tywin to turn as well, worry hitting him like a ram. Immediately, he noticed Dorna's furrowed brow. At the same time, he heard a tiny, bubbling sound indicating new life from a bundle of cloth.

 

Tywin's heart hammered like mad when he stood up, joints creaking after the long time at his wife's side, and walked over to take a first look at the new-born.

“I'll go crazy, if it's another dwarf,” he thought.

Aloud, he said to Dorna: “Let me see.”


	72. Chapter 72

Sansa was so groggy she could barely speak, and her body was an amorphous mass of pain, even though the sharpness of the wafts was gone. Still, her eyes were glued on her husband as he took the two steps to the bundle with their baby.

 

With his back to her he parted the cloth. She heard a sharp intake of breath, and Sansa wanted to jump out of her skin.

“Tell me!” she croaked. “What's wrong? What's wrong with our baby?”

 

Tywin actually uttered something that sounded like a sob.

He breathed: “She's beautiful! The sweetest girl possible. She looks as beautiful as her mother.”

A daughter! Sansa would have sighed in sheer relief... had she not noticed the looks flying back and forth between Dorna and Lady Mormont. The two women had raised their eyebrows and positively looked as if they were judging whether the old Lion of Lannister was making his very first jape ever, or whether he had lost his common sense in the birthing process.

 

So Sansa begged: “Let me see her, too! Let me see if I can give her my breast.”

Tywin turned around with the baby in his arms. Sansa thought his eyes had never been so bright, and though his mouth wasn't smiling, he was radiant, no less.

 

Her husband had more or less closed the piece of cloth, but even so, Sansa had a good first look at her daughter's face. She also had an initial idea of why her midwives were confused. The little one was still half dirty from the birthing process, all red and wrinkled, and her head was dusted with wet, fair hair. To say the baby was beautiful and like her mother wasn't exactly what would have come to Sansa's mind. She'd have rather said Tywin couldn't deny his parentage.

 

But be that as it may – Sansa's heart opened wide, she smiled weakly, exposed a breast and took the little one into her arms. At that moment, the cloth opened... and Sansa gasped in shock.

What on earth...!?

The baby girl... her right hand was missing! She was born a... a cripple.

 

Tywin looked at Sansa, worry in his green eyes.

“What is it, love? Still in pain?”

Sansa was increasingly confused. She didn't care about the girl's handicap, would love her under all conditions... but what about Tywin? He had seen the hand was missing, hadn't he?

“Never mind, Tywin, I'm getting better already.”

She offered a swollen breast it to the baby. The contact to the tiny, warm body caused her to tingle all over with joy, but it was tainted with the fear Tywin might still notice the disfigurement belatedly and become furious.

 

But all that happened was that the little one uttered a baby whimper... and started to suckle.

The next moment, the unimaginable thing happened: Tywin smiled from ear to ear. Sansa could barely handle the multitude of impressions, and her heart fluttered like mad.

“Look at who's a greedy little cub!” Tywin commented, his voice warmer than it had ever been.

Sansa noticed Dorna gape like a carp on hand. She also realised her husband had a plain view on where the hand was missing – and yet, he kept smiling.

A wonder.

 

“He's decided his daughter is perfect,” Sansa thought. “He only sees what he wants to see. And he doesn't want to see her disfigurement. Gods.”

However, she was the last one to object to his line of thinking.

 

Aloud, she asked: “Have you already thought about a name?”

Tywin arched an eyebrow and turned more serious again.

“I did have some long hours to think about it while I was sitting at your side, Sansa. You know, I feel it should be a name that reflects both family lines. What do you think of Alyannis?”

Sansa froze in surprise for a moment – and then, she laughed.

“I want to see the queen's reaction once she learns of our baby's name.”

“We can always say it's referring to Lyanna.”

Tywin didn't grin, but there was a sparkle in his eyes.

 

At that moment, Maege Mormont commented in Tywin's direction: “Got any foxes in your lineage?”

An arrogant “pfft” was all she got as an answer from Tywin. He was already concentrating on his suckling daughter again and caressed a tiny ear with his finger. Alyannis let go of Sansa's nipple and uttered a squeak.

“She's ticklish,” Tywin stated. “Must have inherited your sensitivity, Sansa.”

 

Maege Mormont cut in again: “Hopefully so. The gods save the world from a woman with your temperament.”

Dorna wanted to smoothe over this rudeness and said: “Tyrion wanted to be her guardian, but I think Jaime would be a better choice now.”  
That idea only caused Tywin to furrow his brow.

“Why? Alyannis is a girl, so wouldn't you be the best option for a guardian, Dorna?”

 

Sansa gaped, just like Dorna, but she caught herself quickly and chimed in: “Oh yes! Dorna, nobody would be better to represent the Faith for our little daughter. Please do us the honour!”

Kevan's wife blushed, but luckily not in anger for having been picked a guardian for a handicapped child. Quite the contrary.

She nodded wildly and affirmed: “I'll teach her everything I can. – Aww, look, Alyannis is falling asleep. Now, this is no surprise, isn't it? It has been exhausting for her to come into the world, too. Come, let's put her into the cradle. And Tywin, would you help Sansa up from the birthing chair and put her to bed? She also needs to be washed and to get some sleep, too.”

 

Tywin nodded avidly.

To Maege Mormont, he said: “Do we have a casket of beer somewhere? Or a barrel of wine? Make sure it's opened to celebrate my daughter's birth.”

Sansa was overwhelmed by it all. She whimpered when Tywin carried her over to the bed, but felt incredibly relieved when she could lie back.

Her husband ghosted a kiss on her lips, and she felt happier than she had ever done in her life. But she was also drained, there was no denying that. Within moments, Sansa fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the second chapter today. See, I've been working hard to dissolve the last cliffy.


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-Sansa-Tywin smut.

Over the next days, Tywin's role as a father was needed more than he would have expected. First of all, Sansa became a bit feverish. Luckily, it didn't turn into a grave problem, and she overcame the light fever within two days, but it hampered Sansa's recovery after the birth. And not only physically.

Tywin didn't understand what was wrong with her. His wife should be overjoyed with their lovely daughter, who was growing and becoming stronger by the day – and yet, Sansa was always morose. She showed no enthusiasm for the life around her. She did feed little Alyannis, but nothing more.

 

So it fell to Tywin and Dorna to deal with most of the baby's needs. Dorna did the swaddling, and Tywin carried her around in the castle and kept her at his side. He didn't want to leave his girl with anyone else, because they were all physically busy rebuilding Winterfell... while he was walking around, giving orders. Fortunately, the little one had inherited her mother's gentle nature, given how calm she was.

 

Tywin thought he looked ridiculous when Dorna gave him a shawl women used to carry their babies in, but it was far more practical, there was no denying it. And besides, nobody would dare to doubt his masculinity. Though... Kevan did allow himself a chuckle when he first saw him with the new attire – which earned him a dark glare. That put his brother into his place.

 

“You're a more devoted father than I expected you to be, after everything I've heard,” the bear woman addressed him at some point.

“When Cersei and Jaime were little I was the king's Hand. I simply didn't have much time.”

Lady Mormont added: “And when your younger son was little you were in mourning. I see.”

Tywin knitted his brows and curled his upper lip as if to snarl, but he didn't give the northern hag the triumph of an answer.

It was also Maege Mormont who had to state the obvious: “Your wife is unwell.”

Now, Tywin did growl.

“So?”

The elderly woman went on: “It's not the first time I hear of such things. Your wife's body has housed and nourished another life for almost a year, and now, her body misses this state. It's not something you can't control.”

Tywin furrowed his brow, so Lady Mormont elaborated: “Imagine you had been turned inside out and had had to give away a part of you. And your wife is sensitive, so it's no wonder she's reacting like this. She needs to heal in more than one way, but just give her some time, and she'll get back to her old self.”

 

That was the very moment when formerly sleeping Alyannis opened Sansa-blue eyes and asked: “Gih?”

“Now look who's awake,” Tywin murmured and rubbed her little nose with a finger.

“Gih? Wawawa.”

The bear woman looked at her and smiled. Tywin mused that his daughter was bringing them closer together than it would normally had been possible so soon.

 

Speaking of getting closer.

One morning, when Alyannis was with Dorna and Sansa for “breakfast” Tywin made an early stroll around the castle grounds. Things were developing in an acceptable way, though it all wasn't fast enough for Tywin's taste.

 

His steps led him into the stables, which were still mainly empty, given the fact that they were relatively few people, and Winterfell had been able to house many, many more before it had been damaged. There was no stable boy to be seen.

Tywin made a mental note to have the lazy boy whipped, when...

“Ah.”

 

Tywin pricked up his ears. Was that a female voice?

He walked over to the saddle room, whose door was half open.

“Mmmmh.”

That was a dark hum. And a contented one at that. Tywin thought he knew the voice. He arched an eyebrow and stepped closer.

 

In the room, there was a table with a saddle on it. The woman had been bent over the side, and her lover was standing behind her, moving in and out with measured military precision. Besides, he had reached around her middle and was fondling her between her nether lips.

 

Tywin bethought himself. Addam Marbrand wasn't known for whoring around like others; but the few times the man's blood had been up during a military campaign and he had asked for certain services in his tent, the women had looked like inebriated cats afterwards, who had fallen into a cream bowl.

No wonder, given this display of competence. Over the last days, Addam and Dacey Mormont had been at it like rabbits: all over the place and not caring one whit about discretion. The only reason why Tywin had condoned such behaviour was that he knew it annoyed Lady Maege.

 

“Gods.”

“Oh yes, please!”

 

Tywin couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of the spectacle. The two had exhausted their most urgent needs in the previous trysts, and they were now working on the fineries of drawing out the experience. Ser Addam's well-developed rear muscles flexed, and Lady Dacey's thighs were trembling and twitching from pent-up arousal.

“You feel so good, love. Hmmm. So wet, that sweet cunt of yours.”

“Please Addam, please! Gods yesss!”

“Yesss, all the way down. Hmmm. Smooooth. And you won't come before I allow it.”

“Ah. Oh, don't ever stop! Ah.”

The woman's moans turned into sobs, so desperate was she.

 

Tywin hadn't lain properly with Sansa for quite a while, so it was no wonder he grew hard. He allowed himself to watch on for another minute, but then, he retreated with soft steps. In his own mind, Sansa was wriggling under him, moaning Tywin's name and begging for sweet release.

Well, all he could do for the time being was to find a secluded spot and to use his hand. But Tywin knew it wasn't enough. Not until he could be together with his wife again.


	74. Chapter 74

A raven with a message from the south caused Tywin to approach Sansa a few days later, his left hand balled to a fist in triumph.

“At least once in his life he succeeded at what I expected him to do, and even quickly so. Must have done it for you, my dear” Tywin said and put the letter down in front of Sansa. For once, the two of them were alone, because Alyannis was with Dorna and Janei.

 

Sansa was at least mildly confused, which was more of a reaction than Tywin had got in weeks.

“Care to explain, husband?”

He shrugged.

“I sent Tyrion on a particular errand. He'd always wanted to travel beyond Westeros. So I granted him his wish and sent him off to Braavos when we met him in that inn on our way to Winterfell. Looks like he must have ridden ahead, or else he wouldn't have been so fast.”

 

Sansa gazed at him, one eyebrow arched.

“And he's already back?”

Tywin shook his head.

“No, these lines are from Tarth, from Brienne, but he and Jaime have received a report from Tyrion.”

Sansa inclined her head inquisitively.

“Why did you send him to Braavos? Which plan have you been hatching?”

 

Tywin clasped his hands on his back.

“I haven't been the richest man in Westeros for no reason, love. One important rule for a man of financial astuteness is to spread the reserves. In case you lose one post you still have got access to other sources.”

 

That statement caused Sansa's inner gears to turn.

“The Bank of Braavos.”

The tiniest nod from Tywin's side acknowledged his wife's deduction.

“I promised Tyrion more money for further travels, if he didn't only make sure I'd get my money from the bank, but also managed to arrange a trading pact with the Braavosi that would secure Winterfell regular future profit.”

 

Sansa gaped at him open-mouthed.

After a moment, she said: “And you didn't feel the need to inform me any sooner?”

Tywin snorted.

“And raise false hopes? Tyrion's ship could have sunk, and in that case, there likely wouldn't have been enough time for a second attempt before the winter or, more importantly, before the harvest. Besides, I wasn't sure whether the dragon queen had found a way to freeze my deposit account at the bank.”

 

Sansa furrowed her brow, finally grabbed the letter and started to read. When she had ended, the paper fell out of her hands, and she looked at him with huge eyes.

“That sum is enough to restore Winterfell,” she breathed.

Tywin agreed.

“Yes, indeed, and there is still a lot left for many other projects. What's more – if we seal the trading pact we wouldn't even need that money and could rather use the incoming payment from Braavos.”

“Payment? What for?” asked Sansa.

 

Tywin stood even straighter than he always did and felt smug.

“Wood. There's enough of it in the north. The Braavosi, in contrast, lack wood. It's a mutually beneficial deal, if you ask me. I've got some ideas for a woodcutting and wood-processing industry. Furniture, paper production, book-binding, the like. That would also cause Wintertown to thrive permanently, and not only during the Winter.”

 

To his immense relief he saw that Sansa was thunderstruck – and that her eyes started to sparkle with enthusiasm for the first time after weeks.

“I bow to your cunning, dearest husband,” she said.

 

Just at that moment, there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Sansa called.

“Excuse the interruption, please,” they heard Kevan call from the corridor. “Ty, can I talk to you for a moment?”

 

Tywin detected worry in Kevan's voice, so he rushed outside at once.

There, he saw that his brother was holding a parchment.

“Another raven?” Tywin asked.

Kevan nodded, lips pressed together, and handed him the paper. Tywin felt the regrown hair of his sideburns rise when he recognised the Targaryen sigil on it. He broke the seal and read the short message. His stomach dropped, though he had partly anticipated the news.

 

Kevan asked: “What is it, Ty?”

So he answered: “The dragon woman writes that she is currently in White Harbour to settle some points... and then, she'll come to Winterfell.”


	75. Chapter 75

All his senses were alert, and he was on edge. That could only be expected, couldn't it?

 

The morning after the message about the queen's impending arrival, Tywin was walking along one of the castle walls with Alyannis in her sling. He wanted to inspect whether the sentries were all on their posts and focused.

 

“Lannister!”

On hearing the voice, Tywin spun on his heels. Within the blink of an eye his instincts sprang into action, the hair rose on the back of his hands, and he made sure his footing was good, though he couldn't have said why exactly. It was probably the tone of the voice, a voice Tywin couldn't recognise, or the fact that his old family name was used.

 

His heartbeat quickened, and the blood started to pump more forcefully in his veins.

In front of him stood a man with coarse features and a slit earlobe, all clad in dark clothes. A Black Crow from the Night Watch!

Worse than that: the man was holding a dagger in his hand. Which was even more problematic for Tywin, because he himself wasn't wearing a sword, due to the baby sling.

 

For a moment, the foreigner goggled at Alyannis, who was sound asleep, then flicked is gaze back and forth between the baby and Tywin.

But then, the man growled: “Best eradicate the whole rotten pack.”

And he jumped at Tywin like a predator intent on ripping its game apart.

 

Fortunately, the short moment of surprise had been enough for Tywin to react. He reached down to his belt, for his knife, grabbed it and hurled it.

Though he was well-trained when it came to fighting in general, Tywin hadn't thrown knives for sport since he and Kevan had been youngsters, so he uttered the shortest prayer to the Seven when he aimed at the Black Crow, who had to be a deserter.

 

_Fssssss!_

The knife cut through the air... and struck home. Right into the man's chest.

The attacker sank to his knees, badly hurt, breathing rattling, but the man was not quite dead yet.

 

Tywin was relieved when he could tell for sure the imminent danger was over – and Alyannis was still sound asleep.

“Good for you you didn't see that at your young age. Once you're old enough, I've got to prepare you for such attacks here in the north, I guess. Now wonder they've got unnerving warrior crones on Bear Island.”

 

Luckily, the nearest sentry arrived on the site just then. Tywin remembered the man's name was Dorien, and that he had arrived with Addam Marbrand's travelling party. The sentry was gasping from his sprint down from the wall.

 

“Are you all right, my lord? I've given an alarm signal to the others. More should come here in a few moments.”

“Don't leave the walls unmanned! This might be some sort of diversionary tactic. And here, take Alyannis. Take her inside, and give me your sword. I've heard my wife say that her father was of the opinion that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

The sentry saluted, obeyed, took hold of the baby and left.

 

As soon as they were out of eyesight, some other men turned up.

Tywin spat: “This Black Crow attacked me and my daughter. Likely one of those men who ended up at the Wall because of my laws in King's Landing during the winter, and now, he wanted to take revenge. I sentence him to death for attempted murder. The fact that he's bound to be a deserter only serves to back up the punishment. And he's dying from his wound anyway, so it's actually shortening his suffering.”

 

Tywin's men nodded. Without further ado, he swung his sword and chopped off the head with a huge blow that was dripping with Tywin's anger.

“How dare you knave attack my little Alyannis!?”

 

Tywin went to the hot pools afterwards to clean himself from the execution's blood spray. But as soon as he entered the castle, Sansa came running down the stairs and threw herself at him, blue eyes wide open.

“Are you all right, love?”

“Would you expect anything less than total triumph?”

Sansa giggled.

“I'd expect nothing less than total lion pride.”

Tywin pressed his forehead against Sansa's, and his wife started to kiss his face like mad. He found it a very agreeable treatment, and an adequate reward for saving their child. His blood was still up after the killing, and his body started to react to his wife, so it was no wonder he started to think of an even better kind of remuneration.

 

Tywin grabbed Sansa, and his lips and teeth and tongue devoured her.

“Oh!” Sansa gasped in between kisses. “This is improper here in public.”

“Good point, wife. To our bedroom!”

 

They had not lain together properly since Sansa had given birth, but now, there was no holding back. Some minutes later, with their clothes strewn onto the floor, Tywin could make sure Sansa had healed. And he did it thoroughly.

Gods, how he had missed it to pump into her! How he had been craving for her shaky moans and her hot, needy flesh.

 

“Aaaaah. Oh Tywin! Oh yesss!”

Hmmmm, that was the best of it: to know that she was just as greedy for his cock as he was for her wet folds.

He didn't stand a chance. He came first. Exploded, to be precise, because so much had been bottled up over the last weeks. For a moment, he sank down on Sansa, couldn't help it; but then, he propped up himself again, brought his hands between their bodies, and helped Sansa to fall over the edge as well. Oh, how glorious it was to feel her spasms around his softening cock!

 

Afterwards, they lay together and kissed some more, languidly now and sated for the moment – and still with their bodies joined. Tywin didn't want to let go of his wife anytime soon.

Sansa whispered: “Gods, I was so shocked when I heard of the attack!”

Tywin sighed.

“I told you sooner or later somebody from the Wall – someone who had been sent there because of my winter laws – would seek revenge, remember?”

“And I hate it when you're right, husband.”

“There are moments when I wish I was wrong, but I know what I know. Too many experiences, and many of them bad ones.”

 

Sansa rubbed herself against Tywin, and he wished he would harden again, but he had pretty much pumped out himself.

His wife purred: “As long as I'm not one of those bad experiences...”

Tywin snorted.

“Never ever. And besides: you were impossible to predict – not even a seer could have had any premonitions about you. About us. That makes it all the sweeter.”

Sansa smiled and Tywin reached the conclusion he'd use his mouth and hands to have her at his mercy, and to make her come once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good question is: how did that Black Crow manage to enter the castle, right?  
> Uhh, and the thought of Tywin beheading someone and of sneaking right into bed with Sansa afterwards is something I don't really like, but I'm convinced Tywin wouldn't give any second thoughts to it, once he has cleaned himself.


	76. Chapter 76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommyginger's last comment is responsible for this chapter.

_Sansa could see her own sleeping form in bed. A little bird, a sparrow, flew in through the window above her and landed on her chest. It hopped a little upwards and looked at Sansa's face._

 

_“Winterfell... this is Winterfell. I remember. So difficult to remember from inside a bird.”_

  
_Sansa winced at the sudden voice inside her head – she knew it like her own one. It was her father's voice she was hearing. Or rather sensing. Whatever._

  
_The voice went on: “The North... remembers. Yes, it does. And Winter is leav... coming, yes, it's coming. You're Cat, aren't you?”_

  
_Sansa opened her mouth, but she needed a moment until she could whisper: “I'm Sansa.”_

 

_The sparrow cocked his head._

 

_“Why – yes! You're Sansa. My daughter. I remember! The North remembers!”_

  
_“Father!? You're a bird?”_

  
_“I've been many animals. Dogs, rats, most of the time. Rats are intelligent, you know? And a human. I needed to come back here. This man, Devren, ... he was half mad and allowed me inside. Took me northwards. It was winter. I let him remember what I could. It helped him survive in the North. We shared the body and our hatred for the Lannisters. I told him I'd recognise the lions, because I knew them in person. So he let my survive inside his head, though I did not control his body. But I went to the Wall. I saw the crystal-eyed Others. The White Walkers. Undead people and animals. And I met Jon, though he didn't know. Fine lad. And Arya and Nymeria! Saw them twice. During supper with the Black Brothers, she spoke of the Lannisters in the North. In Winterfell. So Devren knew he had to leave the Wall and to seek revenge. He's dead now, and I'm a little bird.”_

 

_“You're a warg!” Sansa gasped._

  
_The bird nodded and made a hop._

  
_“Didn't know it until the very last moment. Until I felt the pain of the blade in my neck. Gods, that pain! I could never forget it. Not even as a bird, and birds can't remember anything well. There was a flock of them flying up when I felt my own sword. Ice... it's name was Ice! I remember! Ha! And then, I was soaring with them. The shock... I couldn't do anything. Nearly forgot what it's like to be human. Until I met Devren in a dungeon. I was a rat then. It was warmer in the dungeons than outside. Winter is coming.”_

  
_Tears welled up in Sansa's eyes._

  
_“Father! You're alive!”_

  
_“But sadly without a bod– WHAT IS THE OLD LANNISTER BASTARD DOING IN THIS BED?”_

 

Sansa sat bolt upright and screamed at the top of her lungs. Tywin, who had been napping at her side, shot up as well and reached for her.

  
“What is it?” he asked.

  
Sansa trembled, and he took her into his arms.

  
“Father. I saw father. Alive.”

  
“A nightmare,” Tywin said.

 

Outside, a guard's voice asked through the door: “My lord?”

  
“My wife has had a bad dream. Nothing to worry about.”

  
“All right.”

 

With a more subdued voice, Tywin went on: “Shhht! The dream is over. You can calm down.”

  
His hands combed through Sansa's hair, and she wept against his chest.

  
“It was so realistic!”

  
“I know,” Tywin murmured and massaged the nape of her neck. “I've had so many vivid dreams of Joanna. Have a guess why I've always worked so much and never wanted to sleep.”

 

Sansa looked up at Tywin and couldn't believe her husband was making such a confession. But after a moment, she accepted his words, nodded, and pressed herself flush against him. She needed him close, as close as possible.

  
She'd been at her father's grave, down in the crypts, after having given birth; she had mourned the fact that Eddard Stark, late Warden of the North, would never get to know his grandchild. And she had missed the graves of so many other family members. Had felt so lonely without them in Winterfell. It had been even worse than feeling lonely in King's Landing because of all the happy memories.

 

“I have to think of my own family now,” Sansa thought and rubbed herself against her husband. After napping, he had regained his male vitality, she noticed. And since she knew now it wouldn't hurt, because she had healed, Sansa decided she wanted to really feel him as close as possible again.

  
“Please,” she whispered and wiggled some more.

 

This was the good thing about Tywin: he was an intelligent man and likely understood things without many words. Granted, more often than not he was still having problems to grasp emotional aspects, but he was improving. And he had never had a problem to understand her need for a tumble.

 

Thus, he wrapped one of her legs around his middle and simply slid into her.

  
“Better?”

  
“Mmmmm,” Sansa purred back at him.

  
Since he had assuaged his primal hunger earlier on, he was in a relaxed mood now – and was both willing and capable to draw out the experience. Sansa reached around to cup his flexing buttocks.  
Tywin growled contentedly in response, then kissed her, slid his tongue into her mouth and mimicked his movements further down. With a pad of his thumb he started to circle one of Sansa's nipples.

 

At some point, they rolled around, Tywin sat with his back against the headboard of the bed while Sansa was straddling him, and she took over the lead. It was good that Sansa was so tall, because it made kissing while being engaged further down as well easy enough.

  
They both enjoyed themselves (and each other) immensely, and Sansa forgot her haunting dream. They kissed and licked and nibbled on each other's skin wherever they could: mouth, earlobes, neck...  
Sansa was tingling all over her body in sheer bliss, and she uttered the tiniest mewl. Under her Tywin groaned.

  
“Gods, I can never get enough of you!” he murmured.

  
“Are we back to being greedy again?”

  
To Sansa's surprise Tywin went as far as to chuckle at that.

  
“I'm most greedy when it comes to you, didn't you know?”

 

Sansa couldn't believe her ears – never would she have thought Tywin had it in him to come close to laughing. Or to sweettalking.

  
However, she didn't answer her husband, because talking was becoming too difficult. Tywin sensed her growing arousal and slid his hand between their bodies to help her come. What a gentleman he could be – when he was in the right mood.

  
As it was, it didn't take long for her until she squealed out in delight and her muscles clenched around his member. The waves of her peak washed over her. It took a bit longer for Tywin to reach his own fulfilment, but it only helped Sansa to ride out her own one, and she moaned helplessly.

 

When they were finally regaining their senses, Tywin gave her buttocks a little smack.

  
“Better we stand up now. We've been fooling around far too long. A nap around mid morning! Who has ever heard of me doing something so outrageous?”

  
Sansa grinned back at him and saw the sparkle in her husband's green eyes, so she taunted him: “I'd say the other actions we've been doing were far more outrageous.”

  
“You mean this?”

  
He flicked his tongue against a nipple, and Sansa giggled.

 

“All right, up now, I say,” Tywin rumbled, and she sensed he was slowly turning more serious again.

  
So she rose from him, stood beside the bed and picked up her clothes. Tywin watched her with an arm behind his head in all his naked glory.

  
“I'll have a look at Alyannis,” she said.

  
“Mhm,” Tywin agreed with a nod while he was still having a good look at her.

  
“Tish!” Sansa said. “You're hopeless.”

  
“Of course I am.”

  
Sansa threw up her hands into the air and finally understood who had passed unnerving, arrogant witticism down the line to Ser Jaime.

 

~#~#~#~#~

Tywin watched his wife don her clothes and leave the room. When he got up himself he felt the strangest urge to actually whistle a tune. Tywin couldn't remember he had ever whistled other than to call his horse.  
He thought: “Sansa's really teaching an old lion some new tricks.”

  
Tywin remembered the particularly naughty tricks she had shown him earlier on and couldn't find any fault with her tactics.

 

He picked up his own clothes, though his ageing spine would have preferred it if a servant could have done it. When he was clad in his fine garb again, he looked around and up, wondering whether the people would have heard them down in the yard because of a forgotten open window.

 

As it turned out, the window was indeed open... and a sparrow was sitting on the sill, staring directly at Tywin with its black, beady eyes.

  
“Chirrrrp,” it uttered, and Tywin thought it sounded aggressive.

  
“No breadcrumbs in here,” he answered. “Better fly to the kitchen. But if you shit on either the food or the cook I'll make sparrow a northern delicacy, I swear.”

  
“Chirrrrp,” the bird emphasised, hopped around and flew away.

 

“This is a weird day,” Tywin decided and left the bedroom as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not meant to include this concept, but here we are. What a way to deconstruct Tywin further. I must confess I did have an evil grin on my face while writing this. Besides, it was funny to pick up the "little bird motif" and to give it a completely different spin. Ahh, the opportunities of a crack!fic. ;-)


	77. Chapter 77

As apathetic as Sansa had previously been – now, after the attack on Tywin and her baby, she felt as if she had been woken from a bad, leaden dream that had paralysed her. The fact that Queen Daenaerys was bound to arrive soon added to the change. Where her Tully heritage had caused her to at least carry out her most important duties over the last weeks she was suddenly overactive.

And in need of her family.

 

No matter what was going on: she barely let go of Tywin's hand, pressed herself against him even in public, kissed her baby's nose and chittered and laughed and prattled on and on.

At some point, her husband admonished her: “You're only waking Alyannis from her sleep and make her nervous. Besides, I need a lady wife, not an overstrung chicken.”

 

At that, Sansa remembered how she'd been called a “little bird” by someone else in the past and blushed crimson for having fallen back into her past self.

“I'm sorry, Tywin,” she said. “It's just... I'm so afraid of what will happen when the dragon queen arrives. That woman has already caused enough drama for me to last a decade or two. And I love you so and don't want to... don't want to... see you punished again.”

 

Tywin's features softened. He cupped her cheek with a hand and breathed a kiss onto her lips.

“Come what may – you're strong. Someone who doesn't know you may take you for a soft, weak woman, but nothing could be further away from the truth. That makes me confident for the future. Alyannis's future. I've only ever relied on Kevan and Joanna in the past, but I've learned I can rely on you, too. And more than that: you've become my life.”

On hearing that, Sansa blushed.

Then, she kissed Tywin in public once more, put her daughter into Kevan's arms and said: “Can you please train your father's competences for that future baby of yours and keep an eye on her? Won't be long.”

Her goodbrother's expression was priceless, to put it mildly. From the corner of her eyes, Sansa could also see Lady Mormont shake her head. Moreover, she heard Lord Marbrand chuckle, but she didn't care in the least.

 

Next, Sansa dragged her annoyed husband into the saddle room in the stables and fell upon him like a starving bird of prey.

“Wife, will you behave? Everyone outside will know and I'm not twenty anymore. I'm – mmmmm...”

Sansa simply didn't allow Tywin to get any further, sealed his mouth with her own one, and luckily, his strong passions and persevering member could always be counted upon.

 

Later, Tywin tried desperately to smooth the rumpled fabric of his clothes as well as his tousled sideburns.

“The Seven take me,” he murmured. “And here I thought I was the predator at the top of the food chain. Well, one never ceases to learn.”

Sansa giggled, and she noticed that more than one face looked away from them and blushed when the two made their way back to the main building.

 

At night, Sansa was just as clinging, though it was more on the tender side. She needed to be held all the time, kissed Tywin's collarbone (and pretty much every inch of him) and couldn't be deterred by her husband's unnerved growls.

 

If she was honest, though, she envied Tywin's strong bond with their daughter. The two seemed to have formed a great team while Sansa had been so melancholic. Luckily, Alyannis had a big heart and had enough love for the two of them.

 

Dorna was becoming rounder by the day, and she and Kevan could barely wait for the baby to be born. The two – and Janei – were so happy together that it gladdened Sansa's heart.

Lady Dacey showed first signs of a pregnancy, too, which didn't come as a surprise, given her feverish interactions with Ser Adam Marbrand. What was more: a raven from Tarth told them that Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime were also expecting a child.

Lady Mormont snorted and simply summarised the omnipresent evidence of fertility it in one word: “Spring.”

 

So things could have been wonderful – if not for the impending visit of the dragon queen. And come she did on her big, black, fire-breathing beast. More than that: Daenaerys Targaryen didn't arrive alone. With her was a complete entourage of people.

As soon as Sansa saw her husband spot them from the renovated ramparts of Winterfell, he uttered a curse she'd have expected from a tattered mercenary, but not from an elegant, intelligent man of his station. So Sansa's eartbeat quickened, and she sent a quick prayer to the old gods and the new.

“Let's hope we'll survive the next days,” she thought.


	78. Chapter 78

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I remind you that this is a crack story? You have been warned for the upcoming chapter. ;-)

From afar, Daenerys Targaryen was barely visible atop her dragon, who was beating its wings languidly above a party of horses with billowing flags. Yet, Tywin wasn't fooled. The whole affair would turn acid and fiery rather sooner than later. The only question was whether it would be metaphorically or literally. Never would Tywin forget or forgive what the dragon woman had done to him and his family.

 

At that moment, he felt Sansa's finger sneak into his balled fist and entwine them with his own ones. Tywin turned for a moment and kissed her crown.

He pointed sideways with his head and asked: “Can you already discern the different flags? You know the northern sigils better than me.”

Sansa craned her neck.

“Difficult to say... Wait! There's a merman. It's the Manderlys.”

Tywin nodded curtly. That was no real surprise. After all, that was where Daenaerys had been before.

 

Next, there was a bit of a commotion down in the yard. Maege Mormont, who had chosen to stay until the queen's visit, appeared on the spot.

_“Her presence will make things even spicier,”_ Tywin mused.

Aloud, he asked Sansa: “Is Alyannis safe?”

His wife shook her head.

“I'll have her taken down into the crypts. Those are fireproof.”

“You mean – just in case the black, scaly beast has got a Harrenhal complex?”

Sansa arched her eyebrows.

“Go on like that, and it won't take long until I hear you roar with laughter for the first time.”

“The Crone will rather turn into a young maiden again.”

 

Half an hour later, Tywin and his wife were down in the main yard of Winterfell and watching the riders enter, while the dragon simply flew above the ramparts and landed in the middle of the square.

Sansa murmured into Tywin's ear: “It's like when King Robert entered the castle all those years ago, and my life was turned on its head.”

Tywin mumbled back: “Only this time, there's no danger I'll be appointed the queen's Hand, or that we'll have to travel southwards to the capital.”

“And I'm glad about it,” Sansa answered.

 

After that, they had to cease their conversation so as to greet Queen Daenaerys Targaryen. Tywin felt a burning anger, deep down in his guts, but he schooled his features when he and his wife, alongside with the Lady of Bear Island, approached their monarch and knelt down in front of the dragon.

The queen, who was still sitting high atop the dragon, spoke to them: “I didn't expect to see you again so soon, but then again, I didn't imagine that my dearest vassal – Ser Jorah – would be killed within weeks. So I'm here to investigate the affair... and to set a few things to right. Lady Mormont, I take it? My sympathies for your loss.”

The elderly woman pressed her lips together, inclined her head and finally ground out: “Your Grace.”

 

On hearing these words, Tywin's shoulders turned even more rigid than they already were. If the dragon woman hadn't expected Ser Jorah to be murdered she knew nothing about the north... which actually fitted into the bigger picture, because one could tell how little she knew about the nature of the Seven Kingdoms in general. It was only a matter of time for her to fall prey to the Game of Thrones, too, if anyone were to ask Tywin.

For the time being, however, the queen was having the long arm. Blasted dragons.

 

Sansa spoke up: “In this respect we are sharing your thoughts, Your Grace. We didn't expect things to play out like this either.”

“Where's Lady Arya?” the queen wanted to know.

Tywin answered: “She's residing at the Wall at the moment. She left before we got news of your impending visit.”

Daenerys snorted.

“Ah, the Wall. That's another place I have to visit. And you? Are you styling yourselves as Lords of Winterfell? In that case, I've got a big disappointment in store for you.”

 

Tywin would never allow it to show on his face, but his heart dropped into his boots. He thought of Sansa. Then of Alyannis. His own destiny didn't matter, but his girl should be able to grow up, and in relative safety at that.

“Your Grace?” he asked with arched eyebrows.

The queen called to a man who had arrived with her entourage: “Daario. Fetch the new Lord of Winterfell. And have the cage brought forth.”

Then, Daenaerys turned back to her hosts and explained in a haughty voice: “The new Lord of Winterfell has recently married the younger daughter of Lord Manderly. He'll also be the next Warden of the North.”

It was then that Tywin knew with absolute conviction which family had had a hand in the killing of Ser Jorah to gain a personal advantage.

 

Meanwhile, a massive covered wagon was being pulled in front of them with squeaking tyres. Tywin remembered that Cersei had used something like that during her travels.

_“Who could be inside? There's no sound to be heard,”_ he thought.

 

The queen seemed to be able to read his thoughts. She looked as if she were congratulating herself.

“We needed a high dose of sweetsleep, because things wouldn't have worked together with my dragon. Too dangerous. And the lord preferred to travel at his friend's side.”

 

Without further ado, the door swung open. After a moment, a dark-haired child appeared in the door of the carriage. Tywin guessed he was younger than Tommen, but he was tall and strong for his age, and there was something aggressive about him.

 

Tywin knitted his brows.

“What in the name of the S – “

Sansa uttered a choking sound and pressed her hands onto her mouth.

“Wife?” Tywin asked. “What is it?”

Tears welled up in Sansa's eyes, and she breathed: “Rickon!”

 

Tywin's gaze snapped back to the boy, and he understood. His mind started to run at top speed.

The youngster spoke up and shot the queen an angry look: “Shaggy is still asleep. I told you the dose was high.”

Daenaerys lifted her finger.

“The dose was high, YOUR GRACE.”

The boy shrugged.

So the queen went on: “Your wolf will be awake soon enough. Now go and greet your elder sister. All right, I'll get off Drogon so he can go hunting in the woods.”

 

Suddenly, everything was happening at the same time. Rickon Stark looked around and froze as soon as he laid eyes on Sansa, Tywin heard his wife sob and saw her run at her long-lost little brother, the queen rose so as to climb off her dragon...  
… and then, a little sparrow whizzed into view at top speed and crashed into the silver-haired dragon woman. The queen lost her footing and fell all the way to the ground. Thud! And she lay there unconscious. Right next to the sparrow, actually. The tiny animal hadn't made it, by the look of it.

 

At once, the dragon pivoted his head back and forth and started to move his wings.

_“The beast is getting nervous,”_ Tywin thought.

His own heartbeat accelerated in response.

“Your Grace!” he called, thus wakening Sansa from the bliss of the reunion with her brother.

She and Rickon both ran to the still form of the queen.

 

Just then, Daenaerys started to stir. The dragon calmed down again, though not completely.

Tywin breathed out the air he had been holding and walked to the Targaryen woman, too. He came just in time to watch her open her purple eyes.

“Your Grace,” he asked. “Are you all right?”

 

Daenaerys looked at him and furrowed her brown in confusion.

It took her a heartbeat to answer: “I think I have broken my left paw, old lion. Why are you here in the north? But be that as it may – you can go call the maester.”

Next, Daenaerys looked at Sansa, gasped and went on: “Little lemoncake! How come you look like a grown woman? And Rickon!? You're almost a man! By the old gods, what has happened? – What... wait! Is that a dragon!?”


	79. Chapter 79

At once, Tywin pointed out to the bystanders that the queen had obviously hit her head, and that she was confused. However, he suspected that something weird was afoot. Sansa looked as if she had seen a ghost. The next moment, Daenaerys chirped like a bird.

 

Tywin looked from the dead sparrow to the dragon queen and scratched his head. He realised he was close to finding something out he didn't want to know. Meanwhile, practical Lady Mormont came over, basically shoved everyone aside and helped Daenaerys to stand up. The hurt woman held her hand close to her body and cocked her head, first to one side, then to the other. She uttered another chirping sound.

  
Then, she looked at the castle renovations and uttered: “I feel strange. Sansa, help me inside. What has been going on in Winterfell?”

  
That was the moment when tears started to spill down Sansa's cheek.

 

Tywin noticed Rickon Stark return to the cart with the direwolf inside. There were some faint noises inside, which showed that the animal was waking up. At the same time, the dragon roared, hurled itself upwards and took to the skies where it circled and then disappeared in the distance.

 

The man named Daario spoke up: “What's the meaning of this? My queen, what's wrong?”

  
It was interesting to behold how Daenaerys Targaryen did NOT react to those questions.

  
_“She doesn't know who she is and is mistaking herself for someone else,”_ it dawned on Tywin. _“She must be thinking herself to be a northerner.”_

  
Things were about to take an interesting turn, that much was becoming clearer by the moment.

 

With some help, the queen walked across the yard and entered the castle. Once, she made a hop like a bird, moaned in pain and stumbled onwards. Notwithstanding, Tywin noticed at once that the woman was oriented and seemed to know the place.

  
“I need to retreat to my room,” she said. “I feel so strange.”

  
She walked to... Lady Arya's and Edric's abandoned bedroom. Which had previously belonged to Eddard and Catelyn Stark, as Tywin knew. And Sansa didn't try to steer the queen away to the guest room they had prepared for her. Tywin started to feel nauseous. He remembered certain rumours, myths he had heard about the north and also about deceased Robb Stark – myths he had always discarded as rubbish.

 

At that point, his wife turned around and looked at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

  
Her voice, however, formed as much of a command as he had ever heard from her: “Leave us alone. All of you. At once.”

  
It was interesting to behold how everybody, who had followed them, flinched and wanted to oppose Sansa – but no-one dared to utter a word.

 

Tywin spread his arms as if he wanted to scatter a flock of ducks.

  
“You've heard my wife. Is there a maester in the entourage? Yes? He can come soon, but for now, we'll leave these two here alone.”

  
The queen's head snapped around to Tywin.

  
“WIFE!?”

  
“Come here,” Sansa cut in. “Let's go inside and talk. I fear this won't be easy for you.”

 

The two women entered the bedroom, and Tywin retreated, pushing the spectators away. There was some murmuring, and then rose a wild, long chirp from inside that actually sounded more like a wail. All the people turned their heads.

  
The man named Daario stiffened and wanted to get back to the chamber. He and Tywin started a scuffle about this.

  
The old lion grunted.

  
“The queen will be fine. I guess she's just got a shock. Have you never seen someone with a shock? Give her some time.”

  
The man looked like a thunderstorm, so for once Tywin used vulgar language to drive the point home: “For fuck's sake!”

 

Kevan approached the two and murmured: “You know what's amiss, Ty, don't you?”

  
Tywin knitted his brows.

  
“No, I don't. But I've got an inkling. That's worse. And if I'm right the Seven Kingdoms are in shit up to their necks.”

  
Kevan blinked... and Lady Mormont cut in: “Well, that's nothing new.”

 

They all withdrew and went to the big hall. By then, Rickon was already waiting there, together with the greatest wolf Tywin had ever seen – and the dark beast was not in a good mood after having been drugged, judging by the neck fur standing on end, the bared fangs and the saliva that dripped off the muzzle.

 

There was also a young woman at his side. She wasn't fazed by the wolf and had garish green hair, as if a Tyroshi had dunked her into a colour pot.

  
_“Rickon Stark's bride,”_ Tywin surmised. _“The younger Manderly daughter. The boy is still entirely too young to have had her, but married they are nevertheless. No wonder the Mermen wanted Ser Jorah dead. If only there was proof... but then again, what would it help?”_

 

After quite a while, Sansa entered the great hall.

  
“The maester may come along now,” she said, her voice shaky.

  
The statement was passed on at once.

  
“How's the queen?” the Essosi Daario wanted to know at once.

  
“The queen...,” Sansa started, but had some problems to speak; then went on, “... is having some problems with her... femininity. At the moment. Amongst other things.”

  
The foreigner frowned, and didn't know whether to ask some more or not.

 

Tywin approached his wife and steered her to a corner. Since everyone was still watching her he moved a hand behind her slender form and wrote with his fingers on her back: “W-A-R-G-?”

  
Sansa didn't look at him, but offered him a tiny nod.

  
Tywin gulped.

  
With trembling fingers, he wrote: “N-E-D?”

  
A second curt nod. Never before had Tywin wanted to be a woman, but right then and there he would have given a lot for such a change so he could have fainted. But then, he thought of Eddard Stark.

  
_“Ah, better not turn into a lady. Beware what you wish for.”_

 

To his surprise, Tywin felt suddenly Sansa's finger writing on his own back: “F-A-T-H-E-R + B-I-R-D.”

  
Tywin remembered the lifeless sparrow in the yard. Then, he thought of the animal that had stared at him after he had had a proper fuck with his wife.

  
The old lion counted two and two together.

  
Felt a strange itch in his stomach. It spread, crawled up into his chest, into his throat...  
… and then, he threw back his head and broke into a roaring laughter that shook the walls of Winterfell.


	80. Chapter 80

Sansa felt as if someone had ripped a carpet away from under her feet. She had thought herself to be an old hand when it came to her established way life crumbling down and leaving her with nothing – but this was all new to her.

 

First of all: Rickon and Shaggy were alive and kicking – and now, they were back in Winterfell. Rickon had married – or rather been married to – Wylla Manderly. Of course, the mermen from White Harbour were assuming Rickon would take over the role of the lord, even the Warden of the North; and that they could strengthen their own influence on the north via this marital axis. They had likely had a hand in the murder of Ser Jorah, though there would never be any proof to be found for it. And the Manderlys had enchanted Queen Daenaerys, too. Everything had appeared to turn out in their favour... only now, things had become far more complicated.

Apart from that, Rickon had become a difficult boy, which was no wonder after everything he had been through. He kept mostly to himself, his only close connection being his direwolf. It pained Sansa that her brother wasn't keen on interacting with her, but then again, it had been her who had left him in Winterfell, years ago, and all his family had deserted him, or so it must have felt.

Wylla and Rickon had not consummated their marriage yet, which was no wonder, given their ages. The boy seemed to accept her around, but didn't allow her any closer than he did Sana.

 

Second: Her father was alive! Or rather his soul. And that soul had been trapped inside the Dragon Queen, together with a sparrow's soul. This was so beyond everything one could possibly imagine... And the outcome was complicated, to say the least.

 

When her father had come to understand the truth of his existence, it had resulted in a shock. The mere fact that he had a woman's body now gave him the creeps, from having breasts to learning how to make water without a male organ. Worse than that, the two other minds within him drove him nuts. Daenaerys had lost control over her body and couldn't lift a single finger without Eddard Stark's consent – but what she could do was to keep nagging at her father's mind. And that she did excessively.

 

And then, there was the sparrow. He was being called “Bert” for clarification, because it almost sounded like “bird”, and the poor animal's soul was limited like Hodor's had been, so all one could do was to keep things as easy for him as possible. Bert kept interfering by causing Daenaerys's body to chirp, or to hop, or to incline the head like a bird would do it. It was likely also responsible for the queen's changed diet: mainly cereals and no more meat.

 

The difficult question was who to inform of this identity disaster, and to what extent. Sansa decided to send Jon a letter and to tell him the truth of what was going on. She also begged him and Arya to come southwards to Winterfell for a visit. Their father didn't know yet that Bran had disappeared , or what had become of Robb and Lady Catelyn. But it was clear he'd need the surviving Stark members in the near future.  
The whole thing had become even more complicated of late, because Daario Naharis had obviously tried to seduce his queen in a quiet moment – and Sansa's father had been so shocked that he had nearly gelded the foreigner with his unhurt arm. As a consequence, the insulted foreign man had left for the lands in the West the queen had gifted him with.

So far, the details of the whole affair hadn't become public yet, but it was already clear that the queen had more than just broken her arm and was undergoing some sort of crisis. Which in itself could soon turn into a crisis of the realm – a crisis nobody needed after the last wars and the severe winter.

 

And then, there was Tywin. Sansa's husband had been on the de-facto way back to a lordship. They had all feared Daenaerys might take that away from him again, and even more... but the fact that now, he'd have to bow his head in front others again was surely eating at his heart.

Though Sansa would have felt more compassion for her husband under different circumstances. Tywin's untimely fit of laughter had hurt her, and deeply so. He had chosen the worst possible reason to find his sense of humour and to lose control. To laugh about Lord Eddard Stark's fate... She kept shaking her head at it.

 

Another aspect that made things even more complicated was that Sansa's father didn't want to see his grandchild and strongly opposed Sansa's marriage to the former Lord of Lannister.

“He's the one who is responsible for many of the problems in Westeros. He's always been unnecessarily cruel and has made enemies everywhere. He's been a bad father, no, worse than that – and that, in it's turn – CHIRRRRRP! – has had the worst repercussions for the Seven Kingdoms. How on earth could you bind yourself to such a disgusting man!?”

 

To Sansa's own surprise, she had become angry with her own father.

“And you have got the nerve to say such a thing!?” she had growled and had felt her inner wolf like she had never before.

“Sansa!”

“But it's true! You went to King's Landing and you knew it was a viper's nest. Yet, you didn't bring enough men to keep you – to keep us! – safe. You blurted out every secret you learned and risked everything in that way. You knew Cersei hated the Starks, you found out quickly enough the king had become weak buck, you could fathom quickly that Joffrey couldn't be my dream prince that way – and yet, you sold me to them, body and soul. YOU sold me to the Lannister faction. And you didn't even prepare me for it. I was clueless, didn't know about intrigues or anything, and I didn't know what the marriage bed in an arranged marriage could actually mean.”

“Sansa! How chiiiirrrp you say such a thing? I've always wanted the best for you, you were smitten with Joffrey, and you wanted to be queen so much!”

Tears streamed down Sansa's cheeks.

“You still don't understand, do you? I didn't know! Had you told me beforehand I had to be careful around those people I'd have seen things differently. And you know what? Maybe, Tywin wants me to stay loyal to him, as any man would expect his wife to do. But we can talk. Argue, if necessary. But he's showing me things. I've learned a lot from him. And he's interested in my opinion, even if he doesn't agree. He doesn't only want me to obey, simply because he's my husband, or worse, a jailer of a spouse. He's strong and intelligent. Yes, he has been cruel in the past, and sometimes more than necessarily so. There are times when I curse him for being an arrogant oaf – but he's not worse than many other lords. Take a good look around in Westeros.”

 

As it was, things were desolate now, and Sansa couldn't talk to her father easily anymore – and he not with her. So all she could do was to wait for Jon and Arya. Sansa felt as if she needed the rest of her family now – though it wouldn't make things any easier.

 

It was on the first evening when Daenaerys Targaryen, or rather Eddard Stark, appeared at the dais in the great hall for dinner. All the people bowed, because they were still only seeing the Dragon Queen. Eddard came closer and made only one little hop on his way. Before the beginning of the meal, he spoke up with Daenaerys's voice and even managed to suppress a bird's trill: “I have learned the hard way how important the North is for Westeros, but I do appreciate its outstanding role. I will stay here from now on. Winterfell and Winter Town are hereby declared the new capital of the realm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the strongest chapter, but I've been ill over the last week and not as concentrated.
> 
> Having that said, I'd like to invite people who are interested in some chatting over to the ASoIaF/Got cafeteria (http://asoiaf_got_cafe.livejournal.com/profile) for talking about stuff. It's a new general community and not restricted to a specific ship. Sorry for advertising, but T****r is pi**ing me off at the moment, because you can only answer by reblogging anymore.


	81. Chapter 81

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for AryaSnow for coming up with a certain hilarious nickname, which I've gladly picked up.

Tywin spewed brownish liquid across the table, and some of it came also dripping out of his nose. He had been in the process of taking his first sip of ale – not his preferred drink, but far better than most of the poor wines that could be had in the north. Kevan clapped him on the back at once to help him recover, and Tywin wiped himself quickly with a piece of cloth.

At least he was in good company with his reaction. There was coughing to be heard everywhere and shocked murmuring, too. No wonder.

 _“This is political suicide!”_ Tywin thought. _“Someone must stop this multiple Nedaerys personality. Then again, the jug has fallen and broken, the milk been spilled. And Eddard Stark will never want to move back to that place where he lost his body in such a traumatising way...”_

 

Taking advantage of the development of things, he stood up and said: “In that case, Your Grace, I apply for the Small Council.”

There was more shocked whispering, and Tywin felt Sansa take his hand, but he simply stared at the queen with its additional inhabitants. That was the exact moment when Bert took over, the queen cocked her head sideways, and the good arm made a slight flapping gesture, which could be interpreted as a shrug by uninformed onlookers.

Tywin responded: “Yes, I understand. We'll talk about it later, Your Grace. We should eat now and think about what's lying ahead of us.”

 

The queen sat down, and Tywin had a distinct feeling that either Daenaerys or Eddard were in the process of telling Bert he couldn't simply dip his head into the bowl with gruel. Luckily, the odd movements with the spoon could be explained by the queen having to use her weaker left arm for eating.

 

Under the table, Tywin felt Sansa's hand on his leg now, and he gave it a pat. They exchanged a short glance. Tywin noticed he had missed his wife's warmth since his fit of laughter. To make things worse, they hadn't fucked for days. What wouldn't have bothered him during his lonely years as a widower was more than an annoying itch now.

 

Nevertheless, he didn't allow his needs of the flesh to take over, and his mind ran rampant with plans for the future. He wanted a safe social position to be able to secure a good future for both Sansa and Alyannis. And even though Eddard despised him as much as Daenaerys did, Tywin hoped he could still address the man's intellect and common sense, even if Eddard Stark had never had a mind for politicking.

 

After the probably weirdest meal ever, they retreated to the solar. “They” included the queen plus the other souls, of course, Tywin, Sansa, Kevan and Maege Mormont. It was good that this Daario Naharis had left. That man had been the epitome of “not trustworthy”.

 

The bear woman wanted to know at once: “What is this rubbish about Winterfell becoming the new capital, Your Grace? This is a bad jape, if I've ever heard one.”

“Not half as bad as the truth,” Tywin cut in. “I take it you're accustomed to the concept of warging?”

He pointedly stared at the elderly woman, thus hinting at the gossip about Lady Mormont being able to turn into a bear and to have even mated with a bear.

 

The woman furrowed her brow.

“Which truth, old lion?” she asked.

Tywin waved at the queen.

“Meet Lord Eddard Stark, whose soul is still very much alive inside Her Majesty. Oh, and there's also a bird's soul who got trapped there as well.”

Daenaerys cocked her head and chirped.

Maege Mormont's jaw sagged, and her eyes bulged.

 

“So what do we do now?” Kevan asked in a rather cool voice.

He already knew about what had happened to the queen.

Daenaerys spoke up, and this time, she sounded like the queen herself: “We have been discussing things in private over the last days. We think We can slowly feel Our souls merge, because of a lack of clear boundaries within the body. Without two other empty bodies there's nothing that can be done about it.”

As an afterthought, she added: “Chirrp.”

 

Sansa's hand flew to her mouth at the prospect of a soul fusion.

“No!” she whispered.

 

Maege Mormont pinched the ridge of her nose.

“Lord Stark? Our Warden of the North? And the Dragon Queen? And a bird? Now that's rich. Sounds like a very particular song of Ice and Fire.”

“I don't find it funny,” Sansa said, with tears welling up in her blue eyes.

“No, certainly not,” the queen agreed.

“But a good motto,” Kevan mused.

 

Tywin's head snapped around.

“What do you mean, brother?”

Kevan waved his hands.

“The other big houses won't like it if the capital is transferred to the North. We need a clever philosphy to sell them the concept. Something like joining forces, the fire of the South and the Ice of the North.”

Tywin nodded lightly, deep in thought.

“A Song of Ice and Fire. Does have a poetic ring. But words are wind. We'd need some hard, political measures to accompany this.”

 

“I'm not going South again,” the queen said, obviously expressing Eddard Stark's thoughts.

“What should happen with King's Landing then?” Sansa asked.

“Oh, that's easy,” Tywin commented. “Leave the town to Tyrion. He'll be overjoyed to rule over all the whores down there. Besides, King's Landing is close enough to Tarth.”

 

The queen looked as if she had bitten into a lemon. Or Eddard Stark. Both, likely, but Tywin didn't care.

He went on: “We'll also need a population policy for the North. There aren't many people here, but we need settlers. A capital that is too far away from the people won't work. So... we could talk about tax incentives, probable places for settlements and the expansion of existing ones later. Winter Town needs the proper architecture for a capital.”

The queen turned her head, purple eyes hard as flint.

“And you're looking for a lordship, Tywin GOLDPRIDE, aren't you?”

 

Tywin merely batted an eyelash.

“And a place in the Small Council. You've had your revenge, and I've lost my family heritage. You know I'll never be your friend after what you've done, but you've got me under your eyes here. And we must all look ahead. I want to keep my family safe.”

“Winter is coming,” Sansa murmured, and Eddard Stark's character part caused the queen to repeat the sentence.

 

They kept talking until well after the hour of the wolf, and the discussion was a heated one. But it was also productive.

When Tywin and Sansa finally headed for their bedroom, Sansa said: “I'm so sad. There I thought I had found Father again, but now, it looks like I'm losing him a second time. I'm confused he's not more upset himself.”

“I wouldn't see it like that,” Tywin answered. “He's already warged into so many beings over the last years that he barely knows who he is anymore. Have you noticed how he doesn't seem to remember your mother or your lost brothers actively? He hasn't been asking about them so far. At the same time, I keep wondering whether the combination of his experience and thoughtfulness with the emotionality and determination of the queen won't benefit them both. Only...”

 

Sansa looked at him.

“What, husband?”

Tywin shrugged.

“He may not like the concept of having to marry at some point. But we can't afford to lose the South.”

Sansa squeaked.

“It'll be impossible for him!”

“We'll have to wait and see, Sansa. And now... speaking of the marriage bed...”

He was tired, but a certain body part was not, and he let his wife feel what he meant.


	82. Chapter 82

Sansa could feel her husband's arousal when he pressed himself against her; she let it happen and then walked on, into their bedroom.

“You're not in the mood,” Tywin said behind her and closed the door.

Sansa sighed.

“You could try to seduce me,” she answered. “You've done it before.”

 

Her husband turned her around and gazed at her with his green-golden eyes. The next moment, Sansa started to weep.

Strong arms embraced her and pulled her close. She sobbed against Tywin's chest.

“I'm sorry I'm not in the mood for doing my duty...”

“Shhh...,” Tywin made.

His fingers combed through her hair, and the pad of his thumb rubbed over the nape of her neck. It felt soothing, and Sansa cried even more.

Tywin murmured: “Ever since our wedding day you've done so much more than your duty. Come to bed with me and sleep. It's all been a bit too much for you.”

 

Without having noticed it, her husband had guided her to the bed. The next moment, they were sitting on the edge, Sansa on his lap, and Tywin unbuttoned her dress. Next, he removed her hairpins.

They got rid of the rest of their clothes and slipped between the sheets. Tywin was still aroused, she could feel it, but he simply held her close.

Sansa whispered: “What about –”

“Pssht. It'll wear off. Or I can always use my hands. What do you think I did during my lonely years? Don't worry.”

His fingers caressed her skin some more, and Sansa's sobs finally died down. Burying her face against her husband's chest, she fell asleep.

 

When she awoke again, it was because she heard a door open. Tywin came in, all spick and span.

Sansa looked at the window.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“About lunchtime, Sansa.”

“Oh.”

Sansa blushed. She had slept so long!

She said: “And you've been up and working for hours, by the look of it.”

 

Tywin came closer, and Sansa held out her arms for him. Her husband accepted the invitation and knelt on the bed to accept the embrace, though Sansa could see on his face his knees were protesting.

Once he was settled in her arms, he said: “You needed sleep. Yes, I've been up for hours – and I think it was likely the best you didn't witness...”

Sansa stiffened.

“What, Tywin?”

 

Her husband's eyebrows rose.

“Ah, looks like your father had a breakdown this morning. I wanted to fetch him, because he wasn't coming down for breakfast, and there's so much to plan and to organise; so I went to his room and found him in complete disarray. You were calm in comparison yesterday evening. I didn't know your father could lose control like that. Turned out he had remembered the rest of the Stark family and had counted two and two together with regard to your brothers Bran and Robb... and your Lady Mother.”

 

Sansa pressed a hand in front of her mouth.

“Oh my! You should have called me!”

Tywin shook his head.

“Would have done so, but your father wouldn't let me. He wanted to know all the details, cried even more when I told him... and then, he did what you did yesterday evening.”

Sansa furrowed her brow, so Tywin elaborated: “He... uh... hugged me. And sobbed against me. Must have been the queen's female influence.”

 

Sansa gaped.

“He did WHAT!?”

Tywin cleared his throat.

“Well... forget himself. I must admit I was sort of paralysed. Until he remembered who I was after a moment and pushed me away.”

 

Sansa stared at her husband with wide eyes.

“And what did you do?”

Tywin shrugged.

“I'm not the type for consoling someone. Or someone else than you, at times. So I fetched someone who I thought would be more apt for the task.”

“Who?”

“Alyannis.”

 

Sansa's mouth worked like the one of a carp on land.

Tywin went on: “What!? Your father hadn't seen his granddaughter yet, and I told him that if he wanted to weep he could do so about something nice. And with those words I dropped our little girl into his arms. Or rather his good arm.”

“How... how did he react?” Sansa wanted to know. “He didn't want to see her beforehand.”

 

Tywin rubbed the tip of his nose against hers.

“Alyannis had the old wolf after two minutes.”

Sansa smacked her husband lightly on the arm.

“Hey, who is the old man amongst the two of you?”

Tywin snorted.

“That's why Alyannis had ME within two heartbeats.”

Sansa giggled, and Tywin kissed her.

 

Within seconds, the whole affair became more heated. Sansa realised she now wanted what had not happened during the previous night.

In between hungry kisses – her hand was already wandering under Tywin's tunic and roaming his warm skin – she breathed: “What about Alyannis? And the others? Won't they need...”

“They're fine at the moment,” Tywin purred back at her. “Our girl is inevitably casting her magic charms, and even the stupid dragon queen is starting to think she'd like the role of a grandmother, though she's barely any older than you and has never had any children. Told her that our little gold lady would have never come into existence, had she burned you.”

 

Sansa raised her eyebrows.

“You couldn't help rub that into her?”

“No. Of course not.”

“You're quite the bastard at times,” Sansa murmured.

“Shall that bastard show you his hellish assets?”

“If it pleases his lordship.”

 

Tywin's fingers found their way to her nether lips and started to tease her there.

Sansa uttered a little sound deep in her throat. Her husband kissed her hungrily, slid his tongue against hers and mimicked his movements there with the ones of his hand further down.

That caused her juices to run freely. She bucked against him and came after a few minutes.

 

As she could already see in Tywin's eyes, that was only the beginning. His mouth moved to her nipples and licked and nibbled there. Sansa's breasts were extremely sensitive, because she still had some milk in them; since Tywin didn't want to have her leak there, he moved with his head further down.

Sansa moaned when his lips reached her nub. And when his tongue circled it and lashed at it though it was so sensitive from her peak it made her delirious within the shortest time. She sobbed out her relief again, there was no helping it.

 

And Tywin was still not done. He wanted to have his own completion now, pushed down his breeches and slid into her.

Sansa wailed. Gods! Oh Gods! This was torture! Though the sweetest torture possible.

She wrapped her legs around her husband to feel him even deeper inside her core and tried to buck against him so as to speed up the process. She couldn't take any more. But Tywin had seemingly used his hands at night and was in no mood to finish so soon. In and out he slid with temperate precision.

Sansa wept, and Tywin urged her on: “Yesss! That's it, Sansa! All wet and hot and greedy. Mmmmmhhh, so delicious...”

 

Sansa thought it took ages, because it was all too much for her, but then, she came again, and it actually hurt, so wildly did she clench around Tywin's member. Her husband groaned, thrust a few more times into her, then tensed as well and shuddered and moaned when his seed rushed into Sansa.

 

It took a long time for them to recover and for Tywin to slid out of her – or for Sansa to let him go.

“I need a wash. And something to eat,” Sansa finally said.

“Hmhm,” Tywin answered, half asleep.

He rubbed his eyes, and Sansa laughed about his tousled clothes and ruffled sideburns. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment.

 

Then, Sansa put her hand on her husband's arm and begged: “Please don't make my father marry anybody. He's not himself, and this is all so difficult for him. Please promise me!”

Tywin grumbled back: “You know when to ask for such a thing, wife. Well, I guess he's a grown person and the queen besides, so it's not really my matter anyway.”

 

A millstone rolled off Sansa's heart. She gave Tywin another kiss and made herself presentable for the day.


	83. Chapter 83

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's finally a new chapter for the story. There's lots of real life stuff going on, and I had to work on some Christmas projects, too. But here we are. One can see in this chapter we're slowly circling in for the ending of the story. There are still a few things that need to be tied up, but we're nearing the finale.

From then on, every day brought new, interesting news. Rickon was established as the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North. The juicy point was that Tywin received the new position of the “High Lord Mayor of Winter Town”. And the fact that the queen was staying in Winterfell constantly as a superior authority sort of weakened Rickon's status – especially since the boy wasn't strong enough yet to fight for his influence.

Tywin knew that it would change in the future to come, but for now, he was busy enough with other things. He had received news from Tarth. Jaime and his family were flourishing there, but that wasn't the important part, though it was nice to hear. No, the relevant point was that Tyrion had returned with fresh money, which Tywin had deposited at the Bank of Braavos in the past.

 

The Old Lion intended to invest the money into both provisions for the next winter and new buildings in Winter Town. The little settlement was supposed to become what he called “New Lannisport”, and that required the right kind of infrastructure. An infrastructure worthy of a capital, no less.

 

Of course, the southron lords protested against these changes and didn't want to accept the queen's reforms, but they didn't dare to start an open revolt. Not yet. After all, the queen still had the dragons at her command. More or less at least.

The big, black beast knew the queen had changed, kept its distance most of the time, and hunted beyond the Wall. However, it occasionally appeared in Winterfell and was like a child who had moved out and came over for a respectful visit; Tywin didn't know how to describe it better than that.

The two remaining dragons were another matter. What shocked Tywin was that Tyrion – of all people – was able to ride and to command the smallest one. Thus, he was declared the “Queen's Paladin”, ridiculous as that notion was, and given the command over King's Landing. It wasn't as if anyone liked the idea, apart from Sansa and Tyrion himself, but Tywin would have liked it even less to hand the city over to a, say, Dornishman.

 

Speaking of the Dornish: they were probably the angriest ones about the move of the capital. They – as former friends of the Targaryens – had always thought they'd play a big role under the new dragon queen. Tywin could foresee a future war here... and he'd leave the dirty job to Tyrion, who would likely get support from the Stormlands, especially from Tarth.

 

Tywin's main project was the North now. As long as he was still healthy and strong enough, he needed to establish a nest for Sansa and their offspring. Now that Alyannis had learned to crawl – and tried to follow her father everywhere – it turned out that Sansa was pregnant again.

 

Tywin would have preferred it to give his wife more time to recover from her first pregnancy – but how should it be possible when Sansa had her hands down his breeches every day?

There was no denying that Tywin was starting to feel older, and his focus had returned to politicking. Besides, he and Sansa weren't newly-weds anymore, so he could have lived without daily intimacies.  
But Sansa was a young, lively woman, and though she looked like a controlled Tully trout there was a bright, passionate fire underneath. She enjoyed being young, and she desired Tywin with a ferocity that flattered his pride. It was no wonder then that she was able to seduce him regularly.

 

Kevan and his wife had become parents once more as well. Their little son Flytos was a chubby fellow, and people kept teasing portly Kevan he couldn't deny being the boy's sire.  
It was a good time for having children. Addam Marbrand was close to becoming a father for the first time. His wife Dacey was round and close to delivery. Addam had obtained an old, abandoned keep and some land close to the Wall and had sent men out to have the building repaired.

 

Tywin often conferred with Addam about the economical opportunities of the North. Furs and meat from wild animals were not enough, of course. The wood export to Braavos had started and was promising, just like they had hoped it would be. If the Manderlys were miffed that Rickon wasn't as important as they had thought he would be they were mollified, because the wood for Braavos was mainly shipped from White Harbour.

Moreover, Tywin, Kevan and Addam experimented with wood products: they invited people who designed good furniture, sometimes even new types of furniture, and had according factories introduced. Woodcutters started to settle down in Winter Town.

 

Besides, Tywin furthered the paper instead of the parchment production, as well as book-binding, and he reached an exclusive trading contract with Oldtown, where paper was used most. It was Sansa's idea to encourage education and literacy in the Seven Kingdoms, and Tywin supported her idea, because it would bring in lots of money for the paper that would be needed.

When Sansa came up with the idea for an academy in Winter Town, Tywin agreed at once. They had to make the new capital attractive, and such a sort of school would be a good incentive. King's Landing had been the capital of whores – Winter Town, by contrast, was supposed to become a better role model, a thriving mix of industry, trade and knowledge.

 

Luckily, the queen, or rather Nedaerys, didn't form a major obstacle in all their plans. While the part that was Eddard Stark didn't particularly like that the North was changing so much and so quickly, he could still see the wisdom in these decisions and supported them. So did the part that was Daenaerys. And Bert... was Bert and happy to eat some porridge.

 

The whole project with regard to the New North was slowly gaining traction; intelligent, adventurous people from everywhere in the realm arrived each single day. What was still a problem was the thought of having to supply so many settlers during the winter. So Tywin and Sansa conferred about these points.

Sansa pointed out that many plants that normally didn't grow in the North could be planted in Winterfell's glass gardens, and Tywin picked up the idea and had many more erected in the north. Moreover, he employed a bunch of inventors who were tasked with finding ways to make food more durable, and with building houses that could withstand the northern winters more easily.

 

It was a strange thing for Tywin: He had lost so much over the last years. He still missed Casterly Rock dearly, like he kept missing Joanna. Cersei as well. And yet... he felt he had also gained a lot. Alyannis gave him much joy and developed nicely. That she lacked a hand didn't hinder her from being a happy child, and she crawled around like any toddler. Sansa flourished and glowed in a way Tywin had never seen in the old capital. Thus happened what he would have never been able to imagine: he started to actually like the North.


	84. Chapter 84

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, finally I'm back into the story. I've been working on a fantasy novel of late, so I had to do a lot of reading to get back into the story, and here we are.

Relaxed moments had become few and far between for Sansa, now that so many things were changing in the North so quickly. For that reason, she treasured this morning: she was in the great hall, together with Dorna, Janei, Dacey and the little ones. The Mormont woman had just given birth to a girl named Daerya, whose coppery hair colour proved Ser Addam's parentage. It was the first morning that the man had allowed Dacey to leave childbed. Now, the mothers and children were all together, Janei with her little brother Flytos on her lap and Sansa with Alyannis on her own one.

 

Sansa had started to sing a children's song, and they were all enjoying themselves. At some point, she noticed Rickon leaning against the wall, right in the middle between them and the tables from their breakfast.

  
_“He's listening and would love to be part of the group, but doesn't dare to look at us, or to ask. His childhood ended when he was three. He's seen and experienced too much, and now, he can't enjoy a children's song like a normal boy his age anymore, though he'd love to,”_ Sansa realised.

  
Her heart became heavy. She knew better than to beg her brother come closer; it would just have driven him away.

 

Suddenly, Shaggy, who had been lying under a table, jumped up and uttered a tense, piercing whine. Sansa stopped singing. Her eyebrows rose.

  
Rickon asked: “Shaggy, what is it?”

  
The huge, black direwolf stared at the door of the great hall as if he had seen a ghost, but there was nobody there. After another second, the animal dashed out at top speed.

  
”Shaggy!” Rickon yelled and followed suit.

 

At the same moment, Wylla appeared in the doorframe and could only watch her wild, young husband disappear with a confused shake of her head.

  
Sansa rose and addressed her: “Lady Wylla, good to see you! Would you be so kind as to look after my daughter for a moment?”

  
“Of course, Lady Sansa,” the woman with the green hair agreed willingly.

 

After what had happened to Ser Jorah, Sansa kept her distance to the Manderly men, though she was as polite as one could expect from her. For the same reason, her relationship with her little brother's wife wasn't as close as it would have been under different circumstances. Still, she didn't want to hold the whole affair against the young woman when the murder had likely been hatched by the elder Mermen generation, and Wylla was friendly enough, if a little headstrong in an Arya-like way.

 

Sansa passed her goodsister with a grateful nod and a smile that didn't hide her worry about what had alarmed Shaggydog. Outside, Sansa saw the direwolf dart towards the entrance gate like an arrow, with Rickon running after him. She followed the two at a more leisurely pace, because she didn't want to risk her unborn child.

  
When she passed the gates of Winterfell she saw the black direwolf's form disappear towards the north, and Rickon was still giving chase.

  
_“What, in the name of the Seven, is going on here?”_ she mused.

 

Sansa was just about to turn and to retreat back into the castle... when she heard the howl of a direwolf in the distance. And then a second one. And a third one. Sansa's good ears told her that these were all different voices.

  
Her heartbeat accelerated.

  
“Nymeria! Ghost!” she breathed. And: “Arya! Jon! They're coming home!”

  
For a moment, she couldn't decide between running into the direction where her siblings were on the way to Winterfell, or turning around and preparing the fortress for the arrival.

 

After a moment, however, her motherly instincts as well as her training as a lady kicked in. She wasn't a tomboyish girl who could run around as she pleased. She put a hand on her swelling tummy and headed back to the main yard. There, she called for her husband.

 

Tywin arrived three or four minutes later, worry written all over his features.

  
“What is it?” he asked when he noticed her emotional disarray.

  
“Jon and Arya! They're coming! Oh, and likely Edric, too.”

  
Tywin was taken aback.

  
“There has been no message via raven that they'd be arriving today.”

  
Sansa shrugged.

  
“The bird must have got lost then.”

 

Tywin straightened even more then, although he had already been as erect as he used to be.

  
He said: “You go to the queen and tell her.”

  
And without further ado, he started to give comments and orders to the sentries and servants, so as to prepare the arrival of the long-gone members of the Stark family.

 

Some fifteen minutes later, Jon, Arya and Edric were there – and Ghost and Nymeria. There was merry yipping around Sansa, and she could barely decide whom to hug when.

  
She and Jon stared at each other in awe at they way they had changed into grown people. Sansa was also a bit self-conscious because of the way she had treated her sibling in the past. They had conferred via raven, yes, but physical contact was still a different matter. When she saw Jon's dark eyes sparkle with happiness, however, she couldn't hold back any longer, embraced him and sobbed.

 

Things were a bit more complicated with Arya since they had left on such bad terms. Even so, the two sisters gave each other a hug, and Arya looked very relieved when Sansa didn't come up with reproaches right away.

 

With the queen, things were even more complicated. The part that was Eddard started to weep, and he uttered a soft chirp, but didn't dare to embrace the two. Jon and Arya, however, still had to be informed of all the details and thus didn't know how to react to the queen's display of emotions. Sansa's heart ached for her father.

 

What was positive was that Arya and Edric kept touching and looking and smiling at each other.

  
_“Arya's growing up, too,”_ Sansa realised.

 

Rickon was at Jon's side and looked up at his elder half-brother with bright eyes. It was the most positive and open reaction he had shown since he had arrived back at Winterfell.

  
Arya tackled Rickon with a wild hug, although the two had already met and welcomed each other on the Kingsroad. Sansa noticed her little brother flinch and stiffen. She sighed inwardly and hoped that the future would bring them all closer together again, emotionally speaking.

 

Tywin and Arya barely greeted one another; they just exchanged a short glance. Matters were far more positive with regard to Jon, though. The two men treated each other with the respect they had already expressed towards each other in their letters.

 

There were also a few black crows who had accompanied their Lord Commander from the Wall, so Sansa had a handful of recently restored rooms allocated to them. In the evening, there would also be a little feast to celebrate their reunion. Of course, things couldn't be as splendid as they would have been in King's Landing, but it mattered little. The important point was that the Stark siblings were finally, finally back together again.


	85. Chapter 85

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... and now, let's get back to the crack nature of the story...

“I didn't know Ghost could make a sound, Jon. I heard him howl on the Kingsroad, and look at how he's muttering something into his fur now all the time. What has happened?” Sansa asked while she was showing her brother the latest repairs that were being carried out in Winterfell.

 

There was the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of Jon's mouth.

“You should have seen him last week when Nymeria was in heat. He was after her like...”

Jon's voice faltered when he cast a glance at the Targaryen queen at his side.

“... like...”

Jon looked at Tywin, who was walking next to Sansa.

“... like a Wildling I once got to know.”

“I see,” Sansa said, and now, it was her who had to suppress a smile. “What love vibes can do to a character...”

Her eyes flickered to Tywin, then back to Jon.

 

Her half-brother cleared his throat, and his eyebrows went up. He took in Sansa's telltale little bump, which indicated her pregnancy, and uttered the tiniest chuckle while a slightly rosy colour stole onto his cheeks.

 

“Well, I first noticed what a chatterbox Ghost actually is when I was inside his head.”

“You... WHAT!?” Sansa gasped.

“I... I'm a warg, Sansa, you know? And when some Black Brothers stabbed me during the last winter, I somehow jumped into Ghost's body and had to stay there for a while. Good grief, I so wasn't prepared for Ghost's inner ramblings!”

Sansa stiffened, and her eyes widened.

“You were stabbed!? What happened? And why didn't you tell me?”

 

Jon waved her words off.

“Wouldn't have improved anything if you had known, would it? And after all, I DID write I had been revived. Well, you see, my policy of integrating Wildlings into the ranks of the Night's Watch wasn't well-received, and I was still too young to become a Lord Commander without facing some major problems. Luckily, a red priestess was visiting the Wall when the assassination attempt happened. She had appeared with Stannis Baratheon. Anyway, she worked her magic to heal my body, lured my soul back – and here I am.”

 

“I keep wondering what may have become of Stannis and his priestess,” Tywin mused.

Jon nodded.

“So do I. They went beyond the Wall after the priestess had seen a vision in her flames. They disappeared in the far North, like our uncle Benjen had done before. But whatever has happened to them – once they were gone, the attacks of the Others and of their undead wights lessened considerably. The problem didn't disappear completely, but it doesn't feel like an imminent invasion anymore.”

 

Sansa could only marvel at her brother's account. All the things he had experienced! In its own way, his life had been at least as dramatic as Sansa's.

Tywin murmured in a meaningful tone: “Warging runs really strong in your family.”

 

Jon shrugged at the comment and continued: “Yes, I've heard the rumours about Robb, so I shouldn't be surprised. Arya is also showing some first signs, by the way. – And now, I'd like to see my little half-niece, Sansa. I've always been convinced I'd get the sweetest possible half-niece one could possibly dream of from you. So I need to find out whether you've lived up to my expectations.”

“Or whether the sire is reflected more in the child than the mother,” Arya, who had been silent all the while, peeped up behind them.

“I can calm you down, Lord Commander, that Alyannis doesn't come after her aunt, and that's the greatest relief,” Tywin retaliated. 

 

At that, Jon shot Sansa a lopsided smirk.

“I do have a feeling that in some ways family relations have become far more... stimulating than they were in the days of old.”

 

Sansa sighed.

“And you've certainly acquired the basics of diplomacy, Jon. And... there are a few details about family relations I need to tell you in private.”

She looked at Jon, then at the queen. Jon followed her gaze and furrowed his brow.

After a moment, he whispered into her ear: “I'm sorry, Sansa; Queen Daenaerys is certainly a real beauty, but surely you remember that as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch I cannot marry twice, even if it's to a Targaryen queen, don't you?”

 

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened.

At that very moment, oblivious Nedaerys made a little hop.

And than Sansa had the worst fit of laughter in all her life. It only stopped when Tywin snarled at her, because he feared she might have a miscarriage because of the severe spasms in her belly.


	86. Chapter 86

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DINGDINGDINGDINGDING!!!  
> 100,000 words!! :-D

The young man was noteworthy, Tywin found. They had retreated to the solar in a small group and had informed the Lord Commander of the multiple identity of the queen.

The way Jon Snow took in the news about the existence of his father showed how much he had already seen in his – still relatively young – life. Oh yes, he was surprised, or more than that – but like a true warrior, he accepted the truth quickly, because such a reaction could well make all the difference between life and death in battle.

The Lord Commander addressed the dragon queen and asked tentatively: “Father?”

 

But what came next, was a true surprise for everyone.

The silver-haired woman that housed Eddard Stark's soul answered: “Actually... you shouldn't address me as “father”, but as “uncle”. Or as “aunt”. You see... what I've never told you... you're the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. I'd have told you sooner, but the risk was too high Robert Baratheon would have learned of your existence. He'd have absolutely killed you, vengeful as he was. Lyanna, your mother, knew that, too. She asked me on her deathbed to swear I shouldn't reveal the truth while Robert was alive. So I pretended you were my own son, sired and born out of wedlock. But the truth is... Rhaegar Targaryen married Lyanna a day before she delivered you, according to the rites of the North. I found a letter in which he expressed he now had a Visenya and a Rhaenys.”

 

Tywin growled: “Rhaegar, you romantic fool!”

It was the exact moment when he was relieved that they weren't in the great hall, but in the solar. And that for once, Arya wasn't present – just himself, Sansa and Jon.

 

Tywin's wife pressed a hand onto her mouth and stared at the Nedaerys-trinity.

The Lord Commander paled and stiffened.

After a few heartbeats, he stood up and said in a flat voice: “Allow me a moment.”

 

The young man walked over to the window, opened it and stared out. His hands balled into fists, and his muscles worked.

Sansa grabbed Tywin's hand. She looked from her father to Jon, back and forth. Bert chose the moment to utter a long trill.

In an odd way, Tywin found it to be the most interesting moment since he had discovered he had accidentally deflowered the Hour Queen.

 

After two or three minutes, Jon Snow turned around. His features still reminded you of chiselled marble, but he seemed to have processed the first shock. 

He said: “I wonder whether that alliance was actually legal and whether that makes me a bastard or not. Apart from that, I guess I should be happy that I can give little Benjal names when he asks me about his grandfather and his grandmother.”

 

Tywin remembered that Jon had married this wildling woman and had recently become a father, like himself, Kevan and Addam.

Meanwhile, Sansa stood up and embraced the Lord Commander. There were tears in her eyes. The young man grabbed her arm and pressed it.

Sansa said: “I wasn't a good sister when we were children – but do consider me a sister now, not a cousin.”

“I'd never see you as anything else,” Jon Snow said. “And... Eddard Stark... he's the only father I've known. The best father I could have known.”

 

From one moment to the next, Tywin was the only person in the room who wasn't weeping. He drummed his fingers on the desk and looked at the ceiling.

 

When they had all calmed down a little, Jon spoke up again: “Finally, I can understand why Benjal has got silvery wisps of hair and blue eyes flecked with purple. I thought it was coming from Val's side – but it must be his Targaryen blood.”

 

The queen nodded and said: “There is something We have decided. You must know that We have been cursed and We are barren. Since you're the last remaining relative We decree Benjal Our heir.”

 

Jon and Sansa gulped in unison.

Tywin's mind rattled.

“Since it wouldn't be incest in the stricter sense anymore, Alyannis would be a very suitable match for Benjal.”

“HUSBAND!” Sansa exclaimed, shocked and angry at the same time. “For someone whose got a few minor issues with being romantic you're a hopeless marriage broker.”

The queen flapped her arms and chirped out sounds of levity.

Tywin arched an eyebrow and denied the others a further reaction.

 

Finally, Nedaerys managed to utter: “Lord Goldpride, you're so, so predictabchiiirrrrp.”

Sansa rubbed her nose.

Tywin snorted.

And Jon Snow found his smile again, though it still looked more than a bit forced.


	87. Chapter 87

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. This has been a very long journey, far longer than I had planned. And now, the story is coming to an end. Thanks for reading and for all the lovely feedback, be it in the form of kudos or the many wonderful comments. Without the latter ones the story would have never been the same. :-)

Her brother stayed for two weeks. Together, they managed to prevent an official betrothal of their babies. Instead, there were many discussions on how the Night's Watch could be made more attractive and be better equipped. Jon also extended an invitation for the next spring to visit the Wall. When he left again, Sansa had tears in her eyes, but at the same time, she was happy about how everything had developed between them.

 

In a quiet moment, Sansa told Arya about the queen and their father's soul. Her little sister was naturally shocked and very upset after this. It took a while for Arya and Nedaerys to reach a certain level of ease in their interactions.

With Edric, things were easier for Arya. By the end of summer, the two had progressed from first intimate caresses to a “fiery friendship”, as they called it.

 

The queen did her best to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Thankfully, the lords assessed her weird behaviour as “typical Targaryen quirks”, and it wasn't generally known what had actually happened to her. Nedaerys, as she was starting to call herself even in public, suffered a lot from her identity issues, at least that was what Sansa guessed, because the queen had put on a mask not unlike the one Sansa had worn when she had been the Hour Queen. There were only rare moments when her inner turmoil shone through.

“I wish I could help you,” Sansa said once.

Nedaerys patted her arm in response.

“I can manage,” she said with a tiny smile. “Daenaerys and I... in an odd way we've come to like and to respect each other. We can see each other's memories, and that's weird and embarrassing at times; but we understand each other in ways we never could anyone else. And Bert... Bert keeps us sane with his lively, simple, positive nature. It's what I liked and sought in Robert when we were young.”

Sansa blushed: “And what about... love? A... a relationship?”

The queen smiled and blushed.

“Our body is quite full, so there's no feeling of loneliness. And we've come to... to enjoy certain things together. It... suffices, I think.”

Sansa's ears started to glow; she didn't inquire the queen about the nature of her intimacies and left it at that. There were other – probably more important – points to consider.

 

It was also at the end of summer that Sansa delivered her second child. The birthing process took two hours less than it had done for her first baby, but it was still a most exhausting affair. In the end, she gave life to a boy they called Edwyn. He was no dwarf, but small and weak and not very healthy. So they all did their best to nurse him to some strength. It was good that this time, Sansa didn't experience a time of inner bleakness after the birth and recovered quickly enough to be there for Edwyn.

 

Around that time, news about Myrcella's wedding in Dorne reached them. Tywin was very relieved about it, because he felt his granddaughter was an important safeguard against a future war with the Dornish.  
The wedding preparations had become easier after the queen had seen it fit to pardon Jaime Lannister, Myrcella's true father. Speaking of the developments in Tarth: Brienne had given birth to a second boy and was already pregnant again. Sansa was happy to learn that the warrior woman's wedded life was a happy one.

 

Tyrion ruled in King's Landing, and even Tywin had to admit he was doing a more than acceptable job. He came over for a visit aback his dragon once and had the middle dragon in tow. Tyrion then flew northwards to the Wall where it turned out that the second dragon accepted Jon as a rider.

After that, Tywin had the Westerosi currency reformed: the silver stags were changed into silver wolves and the coppers were called crows henceforth.

 

It was a fertile time for raising children, for building, and for diplomacy.

“Thank the seven,” Tywin growled one day. “I'm getting too old for battles, Cersei.”

“I'm Sansa, not Cersei,” she corrected him.

Her husband shot her a confused, then annoyed look.

“Which only proves my point,” he rumbled. “I tell you: while I may live to see another winter the next one will certainly be the last one I survive. I can feel it in my guts.”

 

Sansa sighed at that. She didn't want to hear such words – but neither was she able to deny that there could well be a grain of truth in it. She had experienced the last winter in King's Landing and remembered how severe it had been; she couldn't even fathom yet what winter meant in the North.

And while Tywin was still fit for his age, she knew things could change all too quickly after a certain point. She noticed how the problems with his joints were increasing, and how he was less often inclined to sleep with her, because his bones hurt at times.

 

Obviously, Tywin had read her thoughts, because he said: “There's no way to deny our age gap, granted. But I promise you, Sansa, I'm like weed, and I won't die anytime soon. No need to despair either. You just promise me you'll always take care of our children.”

Sansa nodded avidly.

Tywin went on: “And I think there are a few things left to do for next spring. I want to see the Wall. I want to meet Jaime one last time. And, come to think of it, I want to have Tommen back in Westeros.”

 

Sansa's face brightened when she heard her husband's wish.

“As you know, the Tyrells are still in contact with Margaery over in Essos. They've already asked for a pardon so that she can return to Westeros. It would be a perfect opportunity to allow her husband to accompany her. Of course, Tommen would have to recant every possible claim to the throne, but I don't think it would be a problem...”

 

At that point, Sansa's voice faltered.

“What is it?” Tywin asked.

“Uh, nothing, really. It's just... when Ser Loras returned from his mission of taking the royal couple safely to Essos, he recounted that Sandor Clegane had taken care of Tommen in a mercenary army.”

Tywin tipped his index finger against his lips.

“The Hound? Yes, I remember. What about him, Sansa?”

“Shouldn't he be able to return to Westeros, too?”

 

Tywin blinked.

“The Hound ran away, tail tucked between his legs. Let's imagine for a moment he were pardoned alongside with Tommen and Margaery – why should he intend to return to Westeros?”

Sansa shrugged.

“Maybe he doesn't. It's just that he was willing to look after Tommen, and he's not getting younger, so he might want to settle down, too, instead of working as a mercenary. He might still be fit enough to train the young men here in Winterfell, or to work as the leader of a new city watch in New Lannisport. Winter is coming, and we could need every man to keep us safe, in case the Others return.”

Tywin squinted at her.

“You told me once the Hound saved your life?”

“That he did.”

Her husband blew out the air.

“Do as you please then. But one wrong bark from his side, and he can return to his dead brother's kennels in the Westerlands and deal with the queen's former lover.”

Sansa smiled and patted Tywin's hand to appease him and gave her husband a long kiss.

 

Later, when she was in the nursery chamber with Alyannis and Edwyn, she thought back on her past life. Growing up had been like the worst possible awakening, or rather as if she had been dumped into a nightmare, instead of waking up. But things had improved so much since then, thanks to – or also despite – her husband. Sansa smiled, and she thought she was ready for everything that was still ahead, although she knew there would not only be happiness, but hard times as well.

She thought of Tywin of how they had accidentally found together, and she whispered: “In the oddest possible way, things have fallen into place.”

 

_**The End** _


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